Unfamiliar Territory
by Drumboy100
Summary: Five and a half years after Frank Hardy relocates with the Witness Protection Program, Nancy Drew decides it's time to tell their 18 year old son that his father is alive.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is dedicated to my college roommate at Houghton College, which is located in a very very rural area. A week before graduation, she commented that everyone in the Witness Protection Program should be relocated to Houghton, since no one would ever find them there. That idea has been percolating ever since.

The timeline will bounce around. 2016 is considered the present time, and major precipitating events happened in 2011. Thanks so much for reading.

I do not own any of these characters.

Frank

July 25, 2011

Everything about this grey stone building was old. Not shabby, but old. I'd walked up and down winding streets to get here, half expecting to see an Amish buggy passing me on the left, and entered through a heavy door. Pictures of previous college presidents adorned the hallway to the upstairs—I'd checked to make sure their title was "president," not "headmaster"—and I'd had a brief paranoid suspicion that the eyes of the pictures might be following me.

Now I sat in a faux leather chair, trying not to move or even breathe too heavily, as movement might cause a creak or a squeak. It reminded me of a chair Nancy and I used to have at our house, the one she'd always begged me to get rid of. As soon as I'd signed up, Joe had been required to go through the house in my and Nancy's absence, putting it back on the market and forwarding our belongings to the central location. After waiting a few months, they had repacked our things in new boxes and sent them to Nancy and me, dividing it as best they could. The boxes had only arrived last week. I didn't even know if the house had ever sold. That piece of information, along with many others, was deemed not necessary for me to know.

The secretary typed on her computer screen (too bad it wasn't a typewriter, I thought) efficiently, competently, with only a faint hard edge around her mouth betraying a sense of stress. Of course she must have a lot on her plate these days. The fall semester was only five weeks away.

I glanced at the clock: 11:06. Not too much longer now, I thought. The president wouldn't want to seem unprofessional by keeping me waiting for too long, but neither would he take me exactly on time and risk appearing like he had nothing else do. After all, I was an outsider that might need to be taught how things are done around here.

I mentally scanned myself to see how I was doing. No clammy palms, no low back pain, no repetitive movements. I was nervous, but only slightly. _Before every interview, ask yourself what you want out of it and why,_ I could hear my father coaching. Of course he'd been referring to conducting interrogations, but this time I would be on the other side of the desk.

What I wanted was obvious. A good quality of life, for the foreseeable future. As for what I was feeling…curious. No. More than curious. Wary. I'd have to keep that in check. He'd be annoyed if he felt like he was in the hot seat instead of me.

I missed my brother. We'd been on both the giving and receiving end of many interviews over the years, and he'd always been by my side. My right side, to be exact. Somehow, over the years, he had always taken the right seat, and me the left. I made a mental note never to mention this fact to Joe. He would immediately connect the symbolism to a married couple having assigned sides of the bed. I sunk lower in my chair to lean onto my elbow, covering my smile with my hand. The secretary glanced over at the gentle squeak that came from my chair.

The door opened just in time for the president to see me slouched in my seat. I stood up immediately, just slightly too quickly, and took the proffered hand in a firm handshake. I matched his smile, professional yet warm. "Mr. Campbell," President Taylor said in greeting. "Please, come in. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you," I responded, picking up my folder (that should have been a briefcase) and following him into his office. "I appreciate your time." My seat was obvious: directly across from a massive oak desk, laden with primly organized books and papers.

If only Joe were here. His good-old-boy smile would give him the ability to bypass this interview altogether. He'd have the contract in his hand and the secretary in giggles in just a few minutes.

Suddenly I realized that I had never been on a job interview in my life. Joe and I had solved several of our father's cases, which had eventually led into full-time work with ATAC. It had been a series of promotions and transfers ever since. I reminded myself that this interview was only a formality, just like the others had been. This man already knew what he was going to do with me.

President Taylor settled into his chair and leaned back, assessing me. He gestured to some papers in front of him. "Forgive me. I haven't glanced at your application or resume yet."

"I'm grateful that you're granting me an interview at all," I said truthfully. "This community has been more than kind to me as it is. You took quite a chance." We could hear the secretary's typing through the door.

"You're welcome." He paused. I saw his eyes drift to a noisemaker next to his door. I anticipated his request, leaning over and flipping the switch. A sound like a very loud air conditioner came from the small unit, drowning out the typing. No one on either side of the door could hear each other.

The president sighed, folding his hands on his lap. "I admit that this is quite a unique situation. I am allowing this because of my personal relationship with the man who referred you here. He says he doesn't know you, but he worked with your father for a few years on the NYPD."

"Yes," I said, nodding. "I've never met him, just spoke on the phone. He was assigned to my case and recognized my last name."

"Which is Campbell." It had been highly recommended that I keep my first name, but last names were of course always changed.

At my silence, President Taylor let out his breath slowly. "Not a fair question. My apologies. I'm sure you have a mildly interesting fictitious past studied and memorized. Your past is the business of you, your family, law enforcement, and God. Your personal life interests me only insofar as I believe you can uphold the doctrinal statement and the code of conduct of this institution. Have you studied them?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "The code of conduct will not be a problem. My personal and professional behavior will never give you a reason to regret hiring me." This last statement came out fiercer than I had intended it to. The president appeared slightly taken aback, then nodded respectfully.

"Thank you. I do not doubt your sincerity. I would like to warn you, however, that about two-thirds of our students are females, and they are used to having much older professors." He opened my folder and began to scan the first page of my application.

"I am thirty-one," I provided. "And not easily tempted—"

His eyebrows suddenly shot skyward, and he dropped my papers back onto his desk. "You checked off the married box."

I stiffened. Now I began to feel the sweaty palms and tension in my lower back. "Yes," I said. It felt like a confession.

President Taylor whipped off his glasses. "I was never told about this. Your wife is certainly permitted to join you here."

I shook my head. I cleared my throat. "She…she chose not to come with me."

His eyes narrowed in an effort to understand. "Is she safe?"

"Yes, she is safe. As far as I'm aware. She didn't want to join me for…primarily personal reasons."

He stared hard at me. Somehow I could still make out the ticking of the clock over the noisemaker. I held my breath, hoping that he would not ask more. Finally he relaxed, and nodded.

"If she changes her mind, please come speak to me. As you are married, I will grade your compliance with the code of conduct accordingly."

"Of course," I said, relieved. As in, no dating. I would never be with anyone but Nancy anyway, I knew that.

"So how about the doctrine of faith? What is your relationship to Jesus Christ?"

I'd known this question would be coming, but it didn't make it any easier. He hadn't asked about God, or, even more generally, "spirituality," but specifically Jesus. In fact, I'd prepared a host of excellent-sounding answers, and now found that the thought of saying them raised the taste of bile in my throat. This man had literally saved my life and had been gracious throughout this interview, and he deserved the truth. "Developing," I answered. "I have nothing else, no contact with anyone from my previous life, less than ten percent of my former possessions. I am taking this area very seriously."

"So you have no faith journey? No background in the church?"

The clock continued to tick.

I sighed. "For all intents and purposes, no. Unless CCD counts."

"And how can I trust a three-month Christian with the spiritual advisement of my students?"

I sat up straighter. "Because this isn't a Christian high school, it's a Christian college. It's my job to teach students how to think and how to grow, and I'll be leading by example. They need professors with all types of testimonies, including those who came to God through tragedy, not books or Sunday School."

Not the most profound answer; I still wasn't very good at Christian lingo. I was relieved to see the president put his glasses back on and pick up my resume once again.

"Master's in Criminal Justice from…oh, yes, that's an online university," he mumbled, looking down his nose at seven years of post-high school education. "Most of our professors have their Ph.D.s, but we can use life experience in your case. How long are you planning to stay, by the way? I heard you're here for at least a few more years."

My face blanched at this, as I had not been given an estimate. "It's impossible to say," I managed, grateful that he wasn't looking at me. "And the theory of this program is that I will create a new life—"

He shook his head suddenly, putting my papers down and looking up. "I can't hire you full time. I'll start you off with two classes. So that's no benefits—I trust you're in reasonably good health?"

I wanted to burst out laughing. The thought that I would be concerned about health benefits after all I'd been through. "Yes. That's not a problem."

"Houghton College does not have a major in criminal justice. I'm hoping that you can help to create a minor. Your new landlord has recommended that you begin a Sherlock Holmes class that can be used for both literature and pre-law credits." His eyes twinkled at me, a grandfatherly gesture.

I felt my shoulders lower in relief. It finally looked like this interview was going my way. "I think we can make that happen."

"Think you can handle upstate New York winters? A foot of snow by the middle of October? We're only 90 minutes from the Canadian border."

"That'll be an adjustment, but I'll manage."

My new boss stood up and extended his hand. "I'll need to speak to the pre-law department, and you'll need to submit a sample and teach a class to the department head. He'll be in touch."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews! A writer's cool drink of water in a desert of editing.

Nancy

February 6, 1998

Adapted from "The Last Resort" Supermystery #5, published by Simon & Schuster

Frank and I flattened ourselves against the cabin wall as our suspect walked out into the driving snow, not ten feet from us. He nearly turned in our direction, but then, mumbling, walked off down the mountain.

Once the suspect was well out of sight, Frank nudged me. "Come on." I followed him as he dashed for the door. In another moment, we were inside.

"Whew!" I said, taking off my gloves and panting slightly from our steep climb. "Let me get over by this fire right away."

"Brrrr." Frank shivered as he joined me at the fire, rubbing his frosty cheeks. "We've got a few minutes before his tracks fade. He's coming right back, because he didn't put out the fire. Let's have a look around here. Uhh, this chemical lab over here looks a tad out of the ordinary. These fuses, detonators, and chemicals could be for either mining or for sabotaging this ski resort."

I joined him, looking inside the closet. "We'll have to check for permits for all this stuff. Whoa—here's the cyanide jar we were looking for!"

"Our suspect has an alibi for last night," Frank said thoughtfully. "Maybe he's being paid off. Grab the jar and let's get out of here before he comes back."

I longed to search in greater detail, but knew that Frank was right. I had reached for my mittens when suddenly Frank laid a hand on my arm.

"Listen," he said. It was a rumbling sound, getting louder and closer.

I ran to the window and looked outside. The blizzard had eased up, but the rumbling was shaking the rickety cabin on this mountain. Then I saw it—a wall of snow heading down the mountain, right for us!

"It's an avalanche!" I yelled. "Take cover—quick!"

In a flash, Frank grabbed me and pushed me under the kitchen table. He ducked in next to me and crouched down. "If this cabin is hit, we'll need every bit of protection we can get!"

"I know—" My words were drowned out. The rumble became a thunderous roar.

A side window burst into a thousand pieces as the avalanche went thundering past, shaking the cabin to its foundation.

I looked up at the wavering ceiling and prayed that the roof would hold. Pieces of plaster dropped to the floor and smashed against the tabletop.

Overhead, the light fixture began swinging wildly. It crashed to the floor beside us, sending broken glass spraying in all directions. But the roof held, and at last the shaking stopped.

A chilling silence filled the cabin, now dark except for the dim light from the dying fire. Frank and I stumbled out from under the rickety table and stood up, surveying the damage.

"Wow," Frank said quietly, "I don't find too many things scary, but that sure was."

I walked to the bathroom and tried flicking on the light. "No light here, either. The power lines must have been knocked out." I went to the door and tried opening it, but the snow had blocked us in.

"It's no use," I said, closing the door with a frown. "We'll never be able to dig our way out of that." The hole that was once a window was now blocked by a huge mass of snow.

"Looks like we're stuck here for a while," Frank said, forcing a smile. "The roof is buried. The force of the avalanche blew cinders everywhere. The fire's dying, and that's a sure sign of a blocked chimney." He didn't finish the thought, for my benefit, so I finished it for him.

"And we can't re-light the fire, or this whole place will fill with smoke. We'll have to be dug out of here. If anyone figures out that we're here." I stamped out the cinders on the ground that were still smoldering. The fire glowed faintly, but it wasn't giving a shred of real heat.

"So here we are." Frank sighed heavily. He stared into the fireplace, the orange firelight bathing his handsome features with an eerie glow.

"For better or worse." I watched the fire die.

We stood staring at each other for what seemed like ages. With a cough, I tried to break the spell. "We're going to make it. We've survived worse." I pulled out my key ring and found my small light. I walked toward a lantern, grateful that it was filled with oil. A brief search in the kitchen drawers gave me the matches I needed, and I lit the lamp and put it on the floor.

During this time Frank had pulled a flashlight out of his coat pocket and begun opening doors. He found a closet with extra sheets and blankets, and pulled out all that he could carry. Walking toward the thick mattress on the floor, he paused, thinking, then flipped the mattress over and sheathed it with another fitted sheet. "Come on, Nancy. Let's wrap ourselves in these."

My biological need for homeostasis drew me toward the bed. Repeatedly, Frank held one end of each blanket and tossed the other end to me to quickly layer the bed. The mattress was a single, whereas the blankets were made for a double bed, so Frank and I were able to sit up on the mattress and huddle together for body heat.

"You're trembling," Frank said, opening his arms. He tucked an extra blanket tightly against my shoulders, pulling me against his chest and back against the wall.

I pressed closer against him. Frank was so warm, so full of life. I couldn't stomach the idea that this might be the end. "Any better?" he asked, his breath warm on my face. He smelled faintly of coffee and English Leather cologne.

"A little." It soon became obvious that body heat wasn't an option if we couldn't reach each other through thick coats. And, although I hated to admit it even to myself, I needed to be closer to Frank for emotional support too. We counted to three and quickly shed them, giggling from the cold and stress, and embraced tightly again under the blankets. We now wore only jeans and thick sweatshirts.

Frank held me tightly, stroking my hair. A warmth formed below my stomach and moved upward, branching out. For this brief moment, the cold could not affect us. We sat pressed against each other, nestled in each other's arms. The fire faded into blackness. The only light came from the lantern in the center of the room.

Frank turned and looked searchingly into my eyes. "If this is it, Nancy," he said hesitantly, "I just want you to know that—well—" He paused, waiting for approval to continue.

I knew I should stop this kind of talk, but I couldn't. In spite of the danger, I felt the usual feeling, the awful, wonderful rush I often felt when I was alone with Frank. "It's okay," I said. "Say whatever you need to say."

Frank took a deep breath and tightened his hold on me. "I really think a lot of you, Nancy. You're hardworking, smart, compassionate. I hope that one day I'm half the detective that you are. The _person_ that you are."

"Wow." My pride swelled and my heart sank at the same time. "Thanks, Frank. You already are, and I think the world of you, too."

"And…" Frank looked uncomfortable, but went on. "I've always thought of Callie as my best girl, and you as my best…woman."

I lifted my head, analyzing his features to see if he was serious. He was. He tucked a strand of unruly strawberry-blonde curl behind my ear, then buried his hand in the thick curls at the base of my neck. "Nancy…in this lantern light, you look…you look…"

I put my index finger to his lips. My head was spinning with cold, fear, and longing.

In a desperate, wonderful moment, our lips met. His lips were miraculously unchapped in this weather, soft for a man. _Softer than Ned's._ I forced the thought aside, deepening the kiss, opening my mouth. I put a hand on his cheek, the other on his thigh, and his breathing quickened into panting.

I lifted my hips, making a motion to sit on his lap, but he put both hands on my waist to hold me back. "Nancy," he said, swallowing with difficulty, "if we're going to stop, it has to be now. My body is responding to you."

In answer, I eased gently into his lap, kissing him even more thoroughly. I had made the moves so far; the next decision would be initiated by him. He rubbed my back in small, soothing circles.

He abruptly pulled away, looking intensely into my eyes. Never taking his gaze away from my face, watching for all evidence of my thoughts and feelings, he began unbuckling his belt.

I unbuttoned my jeans, and we again counted to three, undressed only our lower halves, and dived under the covers one more. This time horizontally. I heard Frank suck in his breath sharply next to my right ear, and then he propped himself up on his elbows.

The mattress had a broken spring. It squeaked regularly, keeping the beat like a metronome, then was silent.

Frank

February 6, 1998 (Continued)

I lay on my back, my eyes open. The cold was beginning to make me weak. The entire room seemed to be floating around me.

Nancy hadn't spoken for a long time. "Frank?"

"Mmmph?" I was not exactly alert.

"I think we'd better keep talking."

I smiled thinly at that, painfully forcing myself to roll over. "Is that what we were doing?"

"Hypothermia, Frank." Her voice was urgent, slightly panicked.

I knew all the symptoms, and was well aware that sleeping might mean that we'd never wake up. At the moment, it seemed like the perfect way to go. I gently pulled her to my side, spooning her from behind and wrapping my arms around her. "Then tell me everything that there is to know about you. Slowly."

Nancy uncertainly settled into our new position. Suddenly she sat upright. "I was hallucinating the room spinning before, but now I'm positive that the floor is moving!"

"What?" I asked sleepily, sitting up just in time to see a rectangular lump take shape under the kitchen carpet. The lump grew larger, then the carpet was thrown back. There was a trapdoor under the rug! Our suspect emerged, carrying a brightly lit hurricane lamp. He saw us immediately.

We almost leaped out of bed to defend ourselves, then remembered our state of undress. We certainly had an excuse for what we were doing here. "We needed to take cover in the storm," I hastily explained as we scrambled to redress. "We would have died if your cabin wasn't open. You saved our lives."

"You're those detectives, huh? So you've been snooping around in here?" he snapped.

Nancy and I looked at each other, knowing we weren't out of the woods yet. "No. We know you didn't commit that murder," Nancy said. "Frank saw you far away from the scene of the crime. When we get out of here, we'll tell the police right away."

To our amazement and relief, he looked just as eager to get a pair of detectives out of his lair as we wanted to be. "Deal," he said with a grin, folding his arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. "I'll lead you out of here to tell the cops."

True to his word, we walked through the underground tunnel and were back down at the lodge in just under ten minutes.

We exited the tunnel, the suspect leaving us, and saw immediately that the ski lodge was out of power. "Oh, no," Nancy breathed, breaking into a careful run on the packed snow.

Thoughts of Joe, Bess, George, and our assignment suddenly flooded back to me. But I hesitated for a second, taking one last look behind me before I shut the door.

Our afternoon together was over.

Frank

February 7, 1998

"Well, as soon as he let us go, we knew that he could only be the accomplice, at worst," I could hear Nancy explaining on her cell phone as she entered the lodge. "He was murdered later that night, but the case was solved in a really cool way." She looked up and saw me. "Well, my plane lands at 7:14 tonight, so I'll tell you the details of the case when you pick me up from the airport," she finished hurriedly. "Love you, Dad."

I walked toward her, scanning my panorama for Joe, Bess, or George. Seeing that the coast was clear, I watched her put her cell phone away and put her duffel bag down, waiting for the facial expression that would decide my future.

She looked up. And I knew that she did not want to be in a relationship with me.

Yet I would have to make it look like my idea to reduce her guilt about yesterday. So that she wouldn't avoid me and we could still work together on cases. And maybe, if I played this perfectly, she would view yesterday as a precious moment in time, not a mistake.

Nancy looked even more beautiful now that I had memories of lovemaking attached to every other positive memory of her. She started first. "Frank, there's something…"

"I have to say this right away, Nancy," I said, holding out a hand palm-down. Women were excellent at decoding facial expressions, detectives even more so, so I hoped that my mixed expression of longing and disappointment was convincing to her. "I really like you, and this attraction between us is never fully going to go away. But I'm committed to Callie."

Nancy's face broke out into a relieved smile, and I smiled back even as my heart broke. "It's okay, Frank. I'm in love with Ned."

"Then please tell me that we can work together in the future," I said urgently. "Please tell me that we can move on, that things won't be weird."

She considered playfully. "It'll be weird for just a little bit. But, yes, then we can move on." She opened her arms for a hug, and I responded just a fraction too tightly and too long.

As I reluctantly broke from the embrace, I looked at her pointedly for a long moment. I fervently hoped that I would not have to ask my question out loud.

Nancy picked up on my cues, and graciously kept me from asking. "No, I'm not on birth control," she said quietly. "Ned and I aren't active."

My expression must have betrayed my shock.

"I'm sorry to inconvenience you," she snapped, shouldering her bag.

"Of course that's not what I'm thinking about," I said, holding her back with gentle pressure on her elbow. "Now I have even more respect for you, and for Nickerson too."

"Our cab's here," Nancy said, glancing out the glass doors. "Bess and George are putting their luggage in."

"Call me when you know, Nancy," I said, giving her one final squeeze and cursing my lack of finesse. Suddenly I realized that I had no idea what Nancy's beliefs were on reproductive issues, and I quickly determined that some things were more important than finesse. I blocked her exit. "Promise me that you will call me the exact second that you find out," I said firmly, a hard edge to my voice. " _Promise me._ Before you make any decisions. I'm serious, Nan."

She looked away. "I promise," she said, gently pushing past me and out the lodge door.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I am a very blessed writer—all my reviewers from chapter 1 showed up again for chapter 2. Including more than one non-Francy-shipper—thanks for giving this story a chance anyway. You guys are the best.

Frank

March 3, 1998

She called me just under a month later. I experienced such a wide range of emotions that I couldn't speak for a long moment.

"So you don't even want it," she said with a hiccup. "I can't believe this is happening. Not to me. Just one little mis—"

"Please don't finish that word," I interrupted. "This is a _surprise_ , Nance. A _surprise_. There are plenty of people all over the world who are going through the same thing right now. Most babies are not precisely planned."

"Babies aren't mistakes, of course. But conceptions—"

"Somehow I was hoping that the mother of my child would have enjoyed that part," I said, then realized what a jerk I was sounding like. I rubbed the back of my neck. "I'm sorry. This is not about me. It's 9:30 right now and traffic should be down. I'll be there by midnight."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" The question was genuine.

I heard a sigh. "Because, Frank, I don't want to give you any opportunity to get on one knee like I'm a dishonored woman in the middle ages."

"You're a smart person, Nancy, but that's got to be the stupidest thing you've ever said," I snapped irritably, pacing in my bedroom. "If you and I decide to get married, I can guarantee you that pity will not be a motivating factor on my end."

Joe appeared in my bedroom doorway, mouth agape. I pressed one palm flatly against his chest, shoved him back out into the hallway, and shut and locked the door.

"Well, it's the 90s, and we are not marrying for a baby," Nancy said emphatically.

"I never said anything about getting married. First of all, I want to take just one second to be happy about this. However this plays out, I will still be happy, because I am having a baby, and I am having a baby with you."

"Really?" she whispered. I knew Nancy quite well. She was in no mood for romantic flattery, but she was glad that at least one of this baby's parents was happy about the news.

I followed through on my second of silence, although I couldn't concentrate much. I felt my heart rate increase to an alarming degree, a mixture of adrenaline, fear, and a cautious joy. "And now. Even though we have another eight months to figure it out, I want you to realize just how many options this baby has. He or she is the only grandchild on both sides, and I can't see either side declining to help." I sucked in my breath sharply. "Oooh, your father isn't going to be happy with me."

"Or with me," she said glumly. "You didn't seduce me. At least we already graduated high school."

"And we're both highly employable. One or the other of us will always have work. We'll work out some kind of a schedule."

"I could raise the baby with Ned," she said softly.

My vision blurred with anger. The suggestion came like a slap in the face. "If that is truly what he and you want to do, then we will discuss the details with a lawyer present," I said hotly.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "Just brainstorming. I don't see how Ned and I will survive this. And I'm sorry about Callie, too."

"There's no way either relationship will survive," I agreed gently. "Maybe there would have been a chance if we'd confessed a month ago."

"Confess," she echoed. "What's in my belly we have to confess."

I smiled. Despite herself she was in awe at the miracle of life, the life we'd created together. "Confess that this kid comes first in this situation. Although if we apologized every day for the rest of our lives, it wouldn't be enough."

"We'll each carry the burden of our own relationship," she said wearily. "We'll keep it private even from each other. And if Callie wants to stay with you, that's fine."

"Not fine by me," I answered. "This plunges me into adulthood, and, regardless of what happens with you and me, it's time to leave childhood relationships behind."

Nancy blew out her breath. "I don't want to get married, Frank. I really don't."

"Usually it is customary for a man and a woman to date before marriage," I agreed. "All right, we'll focus on the pregnancy for now."

"Thanks, Frank," she said. I could hear the relief in her voice.

"I'd still like to come up," I said, cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear, stuffing some clothes in my overnight bag. "We need to pick out an OB/GYN, make some appointments. We'll tell your dad and Hannah together, if you want me there. And I want to take you out to dinner to celebrate. We're having a baby, Nancy."

"All right." I was glad that she sounded a lot better now than when she'd first called. "Come up first thing in the morning. My dad isn't going to be in the mood to allow you to stay overnight."

"Good point. And, Nancy…one day, sooner than you think, you'll say that the baby is the best surprise you ever got."

"Okay," she said. "I'm glad you're excited, Frank. Not sure what kind of mother I'll be, but you'll be a great dad."

Frank

March 5, 1998

"No no no no," I groaned, briefly laying my head on the steering wheel in despair. She had not listened to anything I'd said.

Callie jumped into the truck and pulled the door closed, flushed with excitement. She'd dressed up in a flower print dress underneath her jacket, more appropriate for a twelve-year-old than a seventeen-year-old, and she'd done her hair and makeup as well. "What's going on, Frank?" She leaned in for a kiss, and I kissed her forehead.

"I told you that this wasn't an outing, and also wasn't anything you should get excited about." I looked over her shoulder, seeing her mother making dinner in the kitchen. Joe had always complained about how parents automatically loved me. There would soon be two sets of parents cursing my name. Not counting my own, who had been disappointed when I'd awkwardly explained. They'd actually been more shocked than anything else. _They would have expected this from me, not you,_ Joe had informed me with a wicked grin.

"You seemed so upset on the phone that I figured it was an affair worth dressing up for," Callie answered. I grimaced at the irony of her words.

Rip off the band-aid. Rip off the band-aid.

I sighed. I forced myself to look her in the eyes while I gave the news. She deserved that much. "Callie, during the case at the resort last month, Nancy and I—"

She rolled her eyes in disgust at the very mention of the name. My guilt progressed into shame. Ever since I'd begun working occasionally with Nancy, I'd paid for each case with a passive aggressive fight with Callie. Now I had to confirm what I'd been denying for years.

"We were trapped inside a cabin during an avalanche. We couldn't escape. We thought that we were going to die. We eventually got out because of a trapdoor in the ground." The absurdity of my excuse grew with every word I spoke.

"Of course," Callie said, teasing me. "The kind of situation most people find themselves in every day. Wait a second, why are you telling me this now? Did you make out in there?"

I wished that I were dead. "Nancy's pregnant, Callie."

Callie abruptly pushed herself as far away from me as possible, banging loudly against the metal door of the truck. She stared at me in disbelief.

"Are you serious?" she asked slowly. "You…oh my goodness…" Callie was so innocent that she never even cursed. One of the many things that I found endearing about her.

"I'm so sorry, Callie," I said. "It was a few minutes of desperation, comforting each other when we never thought we would make it out of there alive. I'm so sorry."

"And you just weren't going to tell me. You would never have told me if that bitch weren't pregnant." She narrowed her eyes at me.

I deserved it all, I knew. And I'd obviously been wrong about her language. I apologized again. "Nancy and I agreed never to speak of it again in hopes that it would blow over. She and I hadn't spoken at all since the case until two days ago, when she told me."

"How do you even know this kid is yours?" Callie snapped. I was grateful for her anger, actually. It matched the anger that I felt toward myself, and it was much better than tears.

"She isn't active with Ned."

"Might want to get a paternity test on that, bro." Callie frantically ran a hand through her hair. Her hands were shaking. "Why didn't you talk to me about your needs, Frank? I'm not frigid. We could have taken things to the next level."

My blood pressure skyrocketed at this insinuation. " _What?_ No, Callie, this has nothing to do with me finding someone who would put out. I'm not that kind of person, it was something stupid that happened under extreme stress. Don't ever think of yourself as—"

"Don't you dare lecture me about self-respect, now that I know what you think of me," she said, her voice wobbling. It was instinctive for me to put my arms around her when she cried; it killed me that I would never again have the right. "She's going to keep the baby, and you'll marry her like the heroic gentleman you are? And forget that I ever existed?"

"We are not thinking about marriage. But, yes, whatever happens, I intend to make sure that we keep the baby," I said.

Callie pulled some tissues from her purse, pulling down the rearview mirror and scrubbing the makeup off her face. "To think that I wanted to look nice for you."

"Callie, I am so sorry. I promise you that I never intended for any of this to happen. A few minutes of selfishness is going to hurt a lot of people." I sighed. I couldn't believe that I found myself in this situation. A couple of months ago, I would have been enraged to hear of a guy doing this to his girl.

Callie opened the truck door. "If you apologize one more time I'm going to be sick. I'll tell you what _I'm_ sorry for. I'm sorry to find out that I love you so much more than you ever loved me. Liked me. Whatever. Enjoy your picket-fence life with Nancy Drew. And let _me_ give _you_ a promise. This isn't the last you'll hear of me. I'm going to make you pay for this. Maybe now, maybe later. For a start, I'm going to call Ned Nickerson and give my full blessing for him to kick your self-righteous ass." She slammed the door and headed back to her house.

I sat in the truck for a moment, stunned. Then I put the truck in gear and somehow made it home. I had never known that my sweet Callie could ever sound so angry and vindictive. She had never thought me capable of this, either. I wondered if one person could ever fully know another.


	4. Chapter 4

Nancy

November 10, 2004

"I love it here," I breathed, inhaling a breath of sharp winter air. "This was perfect, Frank, I've got to say. You always know where to go."

Frank grinned, putting an arm around me. "Glad you approve, Ms. Drew."

One a year, usually in November for Aaron's birthday, Frank scheduled a family trip for me, him, and Aaron. Every year he put his foot down. And every year his family tagged along. Which would have bene fine with us if we had time alone with our son the rest of the year.

We waited next to a ride in Storybook Land, a theme park for kids near the South Jersey shore. The theme was classical nursery rhymes, decorations mixed with small attractions, and Santa Claus had ridden by an hour earlier in their opening parade.

But none of that was what impressed me. I'd never seen so many Christmas lights in my life.

"Mommy! Daddy!" I heard a shriek, and looked up at the kiddie Ferris wheel. Our six-year-old and Frank's mom were "stuck at the top," which was Aaron's favorite position.

Frank and I waved and called our encouragements, which weren't difficult to hear since his strawberry-shaped cart was dangling possibly thirty feet in the air. Frank scanned our surroundings and saw that the rest of his family was still getting hot chocolate.

"Are you in love with me?" Frank asked. We hadn't talked about marriage for a long time. I found this question to be even more difficult. "Think about it, Nance."

So I did. "I love you," I said. "You're a good man, kind and considerate, you're a good father and I like the respectful comfort that we've grown into over the years."

Frank was thoughtful. Aaron and Laura were now stuck at one-below-the-top as others boarded the Ferris wheel. "Were you in love with Nickerson?"

My shoulders stiffened. "Yes, I was. Not sure if we would have married or not, but it was very passionate on both sides. By the way, Joe told me earlier today that he found out Ned and Callie broke up last year. When he ran into Vanessa at the post office. He said it was up to me whether I wanted to tell you or not." Frank had taken his breakup with Callie even worse than I'd taken mine with Ned.

Frank unsuccessfully tried to hide his surprise that his brother would tell me and not him. "I suppose I did tell Joe that I didn't want to hear any more updates about the two of them. I'm surprised they lasted as long as they did, considering that revenge was what got their relationship started. I want nothing but happiness for Callie, though, so I'm glad—" Frank realized he'd said too much.

My temper flared. "So you're saying Ned is incapable of making a nice girl happy? Ned may be a bad boy sometimes, but he's a good man."

"I'd only met Ned a couple of times before he cussed me out on my front lawn, so I will defer to your opinion on him. Of course we wish them both the best."

We lapsed back into brief silence. The Ferris wheel began to move again.

"What do you want in life that you're not getting now?" Frank asked.

I nestled into his shoulder. This was an important question, but a painful one. "I love our professional lives. I love how Aaron is happy living with my dad and Hannah, and your family always scheming to get him for the weekends…he loves that he's the favorite wherever he goes, and somehow he's not spoiled. We see him in between every case, but I want…I wish that we could live two lives. One that's all about family, one that's all about career."

Joe showed up then with hot chocolates. He looked from Frank to me. "Get out of here, go on a walk. Enjoy the lights."

I took my cup gratefully, waving to Aaron. I dreaded these relationship talks with Frank, but he had been considerate enough not to bring up this topic for the past several months. "I know that you think that personal goals should come first, but I don't want either of us resenting Aaron for halting our careers. Or resenting each other."

Frank shook his head. "I want you to know, Nancy, that I'm not attached to field work. I enjoy it, I'm good at it, but it's all I've ever known. We're twenty-five now, I've been doing this for ten years, and I've decided that I would be okay with a career change. Aaron is in kindergarten now, all we'd have to do is put him in an after-school club so I could pick him up later in the afternoon. You could go on your cases and come back to us in between."

I turned to him, surprised. He took my hand and led me into the old-time cars, which miraculously had no line.

He buckled us in, then turned toward me decisively. "I've loved you for a long time, Nancy. The day after Aaron's conception, when I told you I was in love with Callie, I said it to spare your feelings. I could tell right away that you didn't want to be with me, and I knew you'd feel less guilty if it was my decision instead of yours."

My exclamation of surprise was stifled by the ride attendant, gesturing for us to get going. Frank stepped on the gas and we rumbled slowly along the track.

I took another moment to enjoy the Christmas lights, taking a sip of hot chocolate. "Wow," I said. "I didn't know that. You've felt so guilty about Callie over the years that I thought…I didn't think you were _still_ in love with her, but I thought…I've told you many times that you can date whoever you want—"

"Don't do that," he said, looking ahead. "Don't use my vulnerability to pull farther away from me. Just let my statement be what it is."

I searched his face in profile. Frank Hardy. The name, the sight of him, filled me with peace and comfort. A good man, a good father, dark and gentle and strong.

The car turned the corner. It was a short ride; we would return to the station soon. Suddenly I felt a sense of urgency, as if the last few seconds on this ride were my last few seconds with him. "Frank," I said, touching the sleeve of his jacket, "I take risks in my professional life. Not my personal life. I overthink, overanalyze, get cold feet. Say these things to me when we're around a justice of the peace, or solving a case in Vegas."

Frank turned to me. His eyes crinkled and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. He helped me off the cars and we held hands on the walk back to his family.

Joe

March 1, 2005

"Hope I'm not disturbing you, Prince Charming," I said over my shoulder. I knew my brother's footfall better than my own. I had pushed aside spare equipment at a recreational center in rural western Ohio, tacking up pictures and news articles about the missing girl that Frank and I had been hired to look into. A lot of colleagues were going high-tech these days, but I preferred the old-fashioned way, and the place where she'd last been seen was allowing me to set up headquarters here. Frank was scheduled to be here in the middle of the afternoon, and was almost three hours late.

I stood in front of my make-shift bulletin board, perusing the news clippings, emails, and journal entries while holding a green highlighter thoughtfully. Yellow for important facts, red for probably important, green for blind hunches. Frank walked up next to me and slapped a hand on the wall. I heard a clink of metal against the wall.

"You look happy. Playing Barry Manilow in the car again?" I highlighted a section of a news article discussing the girl's interest in reggae bands. Full work mode, with only occasional seconds to spare for sass. "It would have been nice if you were here for the briefing. Now everything you hear will be colored with my own biases."

Frank waved a hand back and forth in front of my face. "Hello, Joe."

"What's going on?" I finally gave him my full attention.

"You're fired if you're not observant enough to see anything different about me." I saw a flash of reflected sunlight.

Then I dropped my highlighter and an F-bomb at the same time.

Frank laughed. "I'd prefer that you refer to our relations as 'consummation,' but I'll let it slide at that."

"You finally went and did it!" I grabbed Frank's hand and inspected his plain titanium wedding band, then dropped it. "But why am I looking at your ring? That's something ladies do to each other. Congratulations, Frank, and now give an accounting for why you didn't tell me about any of this."

Frank grinned and sat carefully on an exercise ball. I leaned against the horse.

"I wasn't looking forward to seeing your sulky face, but truthfully, I didn't tell you or anyone else because I was afraid that she'd say no." Frank bounced gently on his exercise ball, a dreamy expression on his face.

"Who's the lucky woman?"

"I stuck with the mother of my child, but thanks for not assuming." Frank threw a tennis ball in my general direction.

"Out with it. You have the healthy, happy glow of a pregnant woman."

Frank actually chortled, then covered his mouth in embarrassment. The sudden arm motion made him lose his balance, causing the ball to roll out from under him. Laughing, he remained cross-legged on the floor. "You know that Nancy and I just solved that creepy phantom case in Laughlin, Nevada. I had to take quite an active role to get us assigned to that case, too. I booked the airline tickets out of McCarran International, just outside of Las Vegas, and asked her to Medieval Times on the strip to celebrate our honored roles as catalysts in the ongoing pursuit of justice. When the Red Knight knelt before the princess, I did the same to Nancy, and showed her that our airline tickets weren't booked for another three days."

I raised my eyebrows. "So when you told me that your case wasn't solved yet, it was all part of the ruse."

"Exactly, Joseph. What Nancy and I did in Vegas stays in Vegas."

"Except for the credit card bills and a little sibling for Aaron." I'd been doing a good job so far in keeping up the ball-breaking banter, but my throat suddenly felt tighter.

"Well worth it for the first, and probability odds are low for the second. Joe, hey, Joe, it's fine." Aware of my feelings before I was, Frank stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. "You're not losing me. You're barely even losing a housemate, since I spent more time in River Heights than Bayport anyway. Nothing's changed between you and me. I'm right here working a case with you, just a few days after getting married, aren't I?"

"Why did she let you take a case so soon? Kind of weird, especially when it took seven years for her to decide to marry you."

Frank's hand froze on my shoulder, ominously still. I suddenly realized that I'd said that out loud, and what that meant about me as a person, and how thoroughly I'd just crushed my brother during the happiest time of his life.

I stood up abruptly. "I'm so sorry, Frank. God, I hate myself. I'm glad that you're so happy. I'm having a hard time with this, even though of course it was going to happen someday. And I wanted it to happen. I'll get over it soon, I'm sorry."

Frank still looked like I'd slapped him across the face, but he focused on my emotional needs instead of his own. As always. "No, no. You've got a point. I don't think marriage will be easy, but I knew that I couldn't be with anyone except Nancy. I want her on whatever her terms are. I'm sorry if this is reminding you of your breakup with Vanessa. Anything more going on with that?"

"I called her last week to see how she's doing," I said bitterly. I walked over to the window, feigning interest in the last rays of the setting sun. "She didn't answer, then emailed me a picture of her engagement ring. With an invitation."

"Nice," Frank said in disgust. "And I walked in here expecting you to be happy for me. No sensitivity at all. I'm sorry, I had no idea. Vanessa rubs her engagement in your face at the same time I'm getting married? The timing just seems too convenient. Vanessa and Callie are such good friends. I swear, I know it's ridiculous, but do you think that Callie…is finally getting back at me like she promised? Through you and Vanessa?"

"Callie?" I said in surprise. I shook my head. "She's not even capable of such a thing, coming after me to get to you. Even if Vanessa and her new man knew about you and Nancy, how did they know that I would call last week? Maybe we're a couple of paranoid egomaniacs that flatter themselves that our previous flames are sitting around conspiring about us."

"You're right." Frank exhaled and walked over to stand next to me. "It'll work out for you, Joe. And in the meantime, you're the available, single guy who can date whoever he wants and stay out as late as he wants and leave the toilet seat perpetually up."

I smiled tightly at him. "I really am happy for you, Frank. I'm serious. And Aaron will have properly married parents. By the way, you know Mom is going to ream you a new one. She had wedding plans all set up, and now the pressure is on me to give her the opportunity to follow through."

"Yup. Not looking forward to hearing about it." Frank smiled. "Nancy and I will find a way to make it up to her. We'll have a reception or something."

"Where are you guys going to live? What's happening to Aaron?"

Frank sighed. "I'd really like to buy a place near Carson's in River Heights. It's going to be quite a change for Aaron to move in with me and Nancy. Maybe the close proximity to Carson and Hannah will help with the adjustment. Nancy thinks we should both stay in field work, unless I find a day job that interests me a lot. I really wish that she and I had done this a long time ago."

I stayed silent. I was still quite conscious of the hurtful remarks that had escaped me earlier.

Frank glanced at his watch. "But since this is a missings case, we've already spent almost ten minutes that we might really wish that we had back. So let's get to work."

I got on my hands and knees, crawling underneath the equipment for the lost green highlighter. Something still wasn't sitting right with me about Frank's elopement and my official third-wheel status with Mr. and Mrs. Frank Hardy. I hoped that it was only a part of the normal adjustment phase that everyone would have to go through.

Nancy

Christmas Eve, 2008

"Got it." Frank's mouth twisted unnaturally in concentration. I held the tiny piece of plastic tightly in place. Frank turned the screwdriver once, twice, three times, four times, and then raised his hands in victory.

I grinned and stood up, jumping up and down as quietly as I could so as not to wake Aaron. I ran to get the champagne, pouring it quickly and handing my husband his glass. He'd managed to drag his weary body to the sofa before collapsing again.

"What a brat," he grumbled good-naturedly, opening his left arm so I could snuggle against him. "I will have to teach him soon that real men don't have such low frustration tolerance. He's in the double digits now."

"It's not his decision alone," I defended. "This is the only solution that's worked over the years. Aaron wants to play with his toys right away, and Joe, your mom, your dad, my dad, and Hannah all want to see him actually playing with the presents they gave him on Christmas day, so the only solution is for us to stay up until"—I glanced at the clock—"1:30 a.m. assembling all these toys."

"We still need to put a sheet over each one, and put batteries in," Frank said, clanking his glass against mine. "Sorry, Nancy, I don't think I can put out tonight."

I brushed my lips rapidly against his five o'clock shadow. Whisker Rubs, we called it. "That's all right, you put out last night."

"Mmm, I remember that well." Frank and I counted to three and drained our glasses at the same time. I turned toward one side of the room, enjoying the tree and the decorations, then slowly turned my head to take it all in on the other side. As tired as I was, these moments alone with Frank were my favorite part of the Christmas season. I closed my eyes briefly, leaning deeply into him.

The next thing I knew, the lights were dim and Frank had carefully taken me in his arms. He carried me down the short hallway to our room.

"Oh, no," I said in sleepy realization as he laid me on the bed. "You had to do the rest by yourself." I was beginning to wake up.

"Merry Christmas, darling," he said, unbuttoning my jeans and sliding them off. He tucked me in firmly on my side of the bed, then climbed in himself. He picked up a book from the headboard and I automatically rolled toward him.

Last year, I'd finally seen a specialist about my growing battles with insomnia. After inconclusive and obnoxious testing, she'd determined that it was an emotional problem due to the hypervigilant nature of my career. She'd had me bring in Frank for my final session, and we'd brainstormed rituals to make sure that each of my senses was calmed and prepared for sleep.

Frank sprayed a short squirt of English Leather cologne into the air, and I breathed deeply, remembering the pleasant memories associated with the smell. I kissed him once, twice, three times, tasting again the strawberry champagne. Adjusting my head on his shoulder, I played with the small cluster of hair on his chest, rubbing it between my fingers. Frank opened the book and began reading where we'd left off the night before, the soothing vibrations rumbling through his torso, the sound of his articulated tenor lulling me to sleep.

"Yes! And the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in!

"'I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!' Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. 'The Spirits of all Three shall shrive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this! I say it on my knees, old Jacob; on my knees!'"

And, even though I knew that this was the best part of the story, I couldn't stay awake any longer. The room faded into blackness, and I knew that it was okay to lower my defenses for sleep since I was safe and loved.


	5. Chapter 5

Nancy

October 5, 2016

Theresa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Sometimes I wondered how much her little mannerisms contributed to the surprising success of our relationship. I loved that she allowed herself to show whatever emotion she was feeling.

"Well, Nancy," she said, picking up a small blue spiral-bound book, "we only have a few more minutes left. We've worked together for a long time now, and we need to evaluate our progress."

"Mmm." I knew I was in trouble whenever she said those words.

"First I want to focus on what's _not_ wrong with you." She skimmed through the table of contents, then turned further into the book and began to read. "For a diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, a person must meet at least one criteria in each of criterion A, B, and C. Criterion A: Traumatic event. Trauma survivors must have been exposed to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence." Theresa looked up at me. "Of course you meet that criterion."

"Yes," I said.

"Criterion B. Intrusive thoughts or memories, nightmares related to the traumatic event, flashbacks, or psychological and physical reactivity to reminders of the traumatic event." She glanced toward me. "Have you experienced any of those four things in the last six months, Nancy?"

I returned her gaze evenly. Was she getting rid of me? "No," I answered finally.

Theresa nodded, satisfied. "No, you haven't," she said. "And I believe you. You used to, for an appropriate length of time. Several months afterward. But human nature is highly resilient, Nancy, and you're the perfect example of that. You took a few months off, then went right back into detective work. No more flashbacks, no more flinching when someone came too close. Your sleeping is even getting a little better. Therefore I have the great privilege of erasing the diagnosis of PTSD from your chart." She gave me a smile, a big one. I had a hunch that she didn't get to erase too many diagnoses from too many charts.

I returned a grin. "Good news. But does that mean you're through? I only call you every few months for a session, you know that."

"That depends on if you have areas of your life that you are willing to work on. Which brings me to…" she picked up the book again. "Criterion C. Avoidant symptoms. Avoiding thoughts, feelings, people, or situations connected to the traumatic event."

"Do I seem like an avoidant person to you?" I asked. I leaned forward and uncrossed my legs.

"No, you don't. Any avoidant behaviors you have don't affect your level of functioning. And you don't meet the criteria for depression, either. You're working, you have a good income, you're independent and involved in the community, and you're a good mom."

"So what's the catch?" I winked, which irritated her.

"What I'm saying is that, while your avoidant behaviors may not be at a clinical level, they are still significant enough to affect your quality of life." She rolled her chair a few inches closer to me. "We need to start talking about your husband."

My body tensed, my defenses raised, but I answered her right away. "We're separated at the moment. Everyone you see is required to be happily married?" I felt my cheeks begin to betray me, turning lighter and then heavier shades of pink.

"How long have you been separated from him, Nancy?" Theresa asked.

She knew full well, but she was still making me say it. "Years," I responded simply.

An eyebrow raised. "At some point a decision has to be made. Divorce or reunification?"

"It is what it is," I said testily. "When I first came here, I told you that Frank was the only subject that is off the table. You could ask anything you wanted about anything else."

"That means that he's the one subject that we _should_ be talking about," she responded drily. "This isn't my first day. All right, forget my question about your plan. Just tell me about him."

"I didn't realize this was couples therapy," I shot back sarcastically.

Theresa shrugged, unfazed. "Neither did I. Yet this is where we find ourselves."

I glared at her. An immature and obnoxious response. Yet I found myself doing it, suddenly thrust into adolescent mode.

"Do whatever you need to do," she encouraged, smiling. "Just tell me whatever you feel like telling me about your ex-husband."

"He's not—" I began vehemently, and stopped when I her smile widen into a grin. I'd walked right into her trap. I took my time, slowly sitting back into my chair, and started again. "Frank and I met about…Wow. About twenty years ago, the middle of high school. We both got started with detective work young, and we met on a case that we teamed up on. We came together on cases several times again—sometimes we called each other, and sometimes life just worked out that serendipitously. We…worked together. And respected each other. We only ever saw each other for a few weeks at a time. Sometimes less."

"He's the father of your seventeen-year-old son," Theresa prompted. "And you're only in your mid-thirties."

"Yes," I confirmed, focusing on a spot on the wall. The past was so painful and so pleasant at the same time. "Yes, Aaron was quite a surprise. Frank and I were under extenuating circumstances at the time of his conception. We needed the body heat to reduce the risk of hypothermia, and besides, we really did think we were going to die—" I put a hand over my mouth, suddenly overcome with the urge to giggle. These reasons hadn't seemed so ridiculous at the time.

Theresa was smiling too. "How was it?" she asked openly.

I closed my eyes. "Incredible. Warm, loving…intense. And, you know, I really hadn't thought much about him like that before. There were plenty of jokes about us, people making comments, suggestions, but we were both just focused on our careers at the time." I corrected myself. "We were focused on fighting crime."

She nodded.

"And so," I continued, feeling the usual cloud of guilt, "I went home to River Heights, and tried to get a normal job, and had the baby, but…I swear the adrenaline rush is addictive. Just like drugs. I tried to be a good mom, and I loved Aaron from the moment I could feel him kicking, but even before he turned one I started accepting assignments again. Always short-term, always supposed to come right back home in a few weeks. My father and our housekeeper ended up raising that kid. Why are women the only ones who have to make a decision between family and career?" I asked angrily.

Theresa paused. "So where was Frank?"

"Visiting the house just like me, popping in between cases. It was like he was keeping track, making sure that he visited at least as much as I did. Making marriage insinuations whenever he thought I was in a receptive mood."

"So far these don't sound like romantic memories. Why did you marry him?" she asked.

"Partly for Aaron, partly because he kind of wore me down. He'd send me hand-written notes while I was on assignment, with fuzzy stickers inside them. Scratch and sniff. I'd arrive at the airport and find out that my seat had been upgraded to first class. His first words when calling me were always, 'The butler did it.'"

Theresa laughed. "Sounds like a detective thing."

"Absolutely. And, actually, butlers frequently do have access and motive—never mind." I stood up and stretched, beginning to pace. Talking I could handle, but not sitting still. "We got married and we adjusted so much better than I thought we would. I think part of the reason I waited so long is that I never really thought of myself as a wife. But it was…it was nice. It worked out."

"So you're saying your marriage got progressively better? How angry are you with him for what he allowed to happen to you?"

We both heard the hallway door ring as someone entered the lobby. I glanced at the clock, then began quickly gathering my bags. "I know my husband. There must have been a good reason for his decision."

"Hold on, Nancy, this is important," Theresa said impatiently, standing up and positioning herself partially in front of the doorway. "If you stay a couple more minutes, I think we'll make progress."

"We already have made progress." Yes; somehow this had helped. Explaining things to an outsider helped organize things in my own brain. "But I don't want to talk any more about Frank."

"Who's in the lobby picking you up, Nancy?"

My jaw clenched. "This session is over."

"Your husband's brother is picking you up again?" Theresa asked tersely.

I brushed past her and exited.

Joe

October 5, 2016 (Continued)

"This stuff's for cows," I said, chopping a red pepper. I was always on chopping duty, and I didn't care. Less stress, more brainless activity that allowed me to focus my brainpower elsewhere.

"Moo." Nancy pinched some cheddar cheese and popped it into her mouth. "Go back across the hall to your place, then, and I challenge you to find anything in that bachelor pad that is more appropriate for human consumption."

I grinned and flicked a dishrag in her direction. She stepped out of range, laughing, then filched my pepper and scraped it into the sizzling stir-fry on the stove. A door in the back of the apartment opened, and Nancy turned around at the noise. "Oh, honey, you're welcome to stay for dinner. It's just another minute," she said, washing her hands.

A petite brunette had just emerged from her son's bedroom. I assessed her briefly, relieved to see every strand of hair in place and no wrinkles on her clothes. I knew from experience that it was impossible to come off looking that cool and innocent unless, truly, nothing had happened. "My parents are expecting me," she said apologetically. "But thanks for the offer, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy. You're always so nice to me."

I mentally winced, hoping Aaron hadn't heard how his new girlfriend had referred to us. No such luck; Aaron appeared behind her, handing her a sheet of paper. "You forgot your homework," he said.

She leaned in, then thought better of a final hug and took the paper instead. "Thanks," she said shyly. "See you in class tomorrow." I had no idea what her name was, although I'd seen her here before.

My father had brown hair, and so did Frank. My mother and I were the blondes. Aaron was also a natural blond, and, while I recognized Frank's eyes and a few mannerisms, the rest of Aaron was pure Yancy. My mother's side of the family, which she had passed to me and her grandson. My uncanny resemblance to Aaron, along with my frequent presence, meant that others usually assumed that I was Aaron's father.

"Another one down," Aaron announced after he'd shut the front door behind her, taking a plate from the counter and helping himself to a generous portion of veggie stir fry. "I'll have to have the talk with her sometime soon."

"What?" Nancy asked, irritated but not surprised. "Not that I'm encouraging you to settle down so young, but what's wrong with her?"

"Too happy," Aaron said simply, scooping up a final wooden spoonful of stir fry and heading back to his bedroom. "Smells delicious, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy."

I felt vaguely guilty, then realized something. "She's right, you know," I said, even while knowing my next comment would not be received well. "I am Mr. Hardy, and your mother is Mrs. -"

"Owens," he called back sarcastically, moving toward his bedroom. "I'm not keeping that name past my birthday."

"You promised that you would keep it til you finished high school." Nancy leaned into his line of vision and raised her eyebrows. "Acknowledge me on that point, please."

"Fine."

"And you're allowed not to join us as long as you do the dishes."

"Fine again," he said noncommittally. "I have more homework due anyway." We heard the door close, then click.

Nancy walked back to the stove and turned down the heat to let it simmer. "He'll make a good lawyer."

"I caught it too," I said, filling two plates and handing one to her. "He didn't say he was _doing_ homework, he just said he had homework _due_."

"I'm so proud," she said, wiping away an imaginary tear. "He gets it from me. At least he finally stopped studying for his driving permit test tomorrow. Let's take advantage of climate change and sit outside."

I followed her out to the balcony. Sliding the glass door closed behind me, I sat down and balanced the food on my lap. "Want me to pick up Reid tonight?" I asked.

"No, I got it," she answered, also seated. "Thanks, though."

I took a bite and closed my eyes. "Mmm-hmmm."

"You always take the first bite like you've been starving for six years," Nancy teased.

"It's been, like, a couple of hours since I've had something to eat." I pushed a few mushrooms to the side. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here, waiting for you to explain why you ran out of your therapist's office like a bat out of hell, but it looks like you're forcing me to ask."

Reddish-blond hair swayed gently in the breeze. She pushed it out of the way, behind an ear. "Not sure what right you have to break confidentiality, but she wanted to talk about your brother."

I frowned. "All these years, and you haven't talked to your therapist about—"

"We have spoken of everything except your brother," she said sternly, eyes scanning our panorama. "We are outside, you know."

"What did she want to know?"

"My feelings, I suppose. My plan for the future, even though so much is out of my control."

Frank wasn't a topic we discussed every day, as it was a painful subject for both of us. I made a reluctant decision to pursue this line of discussion, just in case her therapist had made her start re-evaluating things. I shoveled in three more bites, swallowed, then put my fork down. "I won't ask for details. But speaking of my brother."

She sighed.

"Aaron has a birthday next month," I said in a low voice. "He'll be eighteen. An adult."

She tensed. "And so?"

I paused. I'd been preparing for this moment for months now, and all my calm, collected opening remarks dissolved on my tongue. "He has a right to know that my brother is alive," I said.

Nancy stood up quickly, frighteningly quickly, and I barely caught her plate of food before it fell to the ground. "He is my son, and I will make those decisions," she hissed, pointing a finger at me like she used to when we were teenagers. "I have weighed the options carefully, please don't think that I don't care or that I'm stupid, and I have decided—" Her hand dropped to her side, and her expression changed to one of fear. "Joe," she whispered. "Please. Please promise me you won't tell him behind my back. Ever."

I hurried to put the plates of food down on the balcony floor. "Nancy," I said vehemently, standing and grasping her arms just above the elbow. "Believe me, I won't lie to you, I've considered it—"

" _No_ ," she said in disbelief, shaking her head. "I can't believe this is coming from _you_ , Joe." She raised her forearms, her hands balling into fists, pushing them against my chest. She was angry but also dazed, conflicted.

The expression on her face filled me with urgency. "No, Nancy, please don't misunderstand me," I said quietly, quickly. "I've respected your decision for all these years, I've been there for you every step of the way, and I'm hoping that you also respect my opinion enough to consider it. Next month this will be a decision between three adults, not for your shoulders alone."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" Nancy asked, her face coming closer to mine. "And how horrific and nerve wracking that would be, and getting his agent involved for permission, and the logistics…Aaron worships him, he's got a shrine set up in his closet. One visit will never be enough." WITSEC had strongly advised her to destroy all evidence of Frank, but Nancy allowed her son that much at least.

"And Aaron will be furious with us, I know, but we'll all get through it together," I spoke soothingly, gripping her tightly. "His agent said that the risk is lower than it's ever been."

Nancy focused a steely gaze on me. "Not quite low enough. There are a great many things in this world that are out of my control. Let me have the one or two areas that are in my control."

"You don't have the safest job in the universe, Nance," I reminded her. "If something happens to you, then it's going to fall on me to—"

Both of us caught the sudden movement within the apartment, and turned to look. Aaron was standing in the living room and staring at us, poker face firmly in place. He held a paper in his hand.

Nancy and I must have looked like deer in headlights. We came to the same realization: we had appeared to be embracing. Nancy pushed my arms away from her, and frantically opened the glass balcony door.

"I'm a big boy, you know," Aaron said calmly. "You don't have to create a fantasy world for me."

"No," Nancy said, so firm in her response that she sounded angry. I followed her inside and shut the door. "There is nothing going on between me and Uncle Joe. We were having an argument."

"Usually people stand away from each other when they argue, not wrap their arms around each other," Aaron responded drily. He flicked his gaze toward my direction, and I felt a chill of insight. I'd been deluding myself that I was Cool Uncle Joe, making sure my brother's family was taken care of in his absence, but in that moment I knew that my nephew thought of me as the traitor moving in on his brother's wife.

Nancy cut me off before I could speak. "Did you see us kiss?" she asked emphatically, raising her hands, palms open. "It's very important to me that you don't think—"

"And it's very important to me to be told the truth for once in my life," Aaron shot back, taking a step toward his mother. "I'm not a kid. I can handle the fact that my mom has moved on and is finding happiness after Frank Hardy died."

"I'm telling the truth!" Nancy almost screeched, her eyes filling with tears.

Aaron focused his blazing eyes on me. "I only hear one of you making a defense."

I opened my mouth to heartily join in the debate, but was stunned into silence by his next word.

"Dad."

Several seconds passed. I had to remember to breathe. "What?" I exhaled. "You've really been thinking—"

"What else am I supposed to think, in this family of secrets?" Aaron asked. His shoulders slumped as the fight began to leave him. "I've spent more time with you than with…anyway…whatever it is, I can accept it. I can take down those pictures in my room, if that's what you guys are afraid of. We can move on." He held up the piece of paper in his hands. It was his birth certificate. With the name of Joseph Hardy written on it as his father.

"That's what this is about? Did anyone ask you to look through the papers in my room?" Nancy snapped, stepping forward and snatching it back from him.

"Sorry, Mom, I already looked at it," Aaron said sarcastically. "I was getting the six points of ID ready for my permit test tomorrow. I don't want to see either of you for the rest of tonight, but tomorrow I want some kind of explanation about how you two got pregnant with me. Undetailed."

With sudden movements, Nancy lunged for the remote control, turned on the TV, and cranked up the volume.

I turned to her, surprised that my shock factor was capable of rising even higher. "You think this apartment might be bugged? After all this time?"

She ignored this, gesturing for me and Aaron to move in closer so we could hear her. "Frank Hardy is your father," she said firmly to Aaron. "I am ten thousand percent sure. I had a boyfriend at the time, but he and I had never…Aaron, I don't want you to feel like you live in a house full of secrets. I don't want you to forget about your father. I'll explain the birth certificate to you. After I explain what Uncle Joe and I were arguing about."

I automatically reached to give her a supportive touch, but dropped my hand just in time. "Think about this, Nancy," I said, in an ironic role reversal.

She glanced at me, then back at her son. He was listening intently, warily.

"We were arguing about whether or not to tell you that your father is still alive."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: PLEASE NOTE THAT I HAVE INCREASED THIS STORY'S RATING TO M. I don't want to give specific warnings because they spoil the story. Please understand that I felt the need to raise the stakes very high in order to justify the plotline. Really hoping that everyone sticks around to the end of the story.

Frank

Thursday, April 10, 2011

"I've gotta say, Frank, I would feel a lot more excited about meeting someone at a clandestine motel room at 10:30 at night if that person were a female."

I grinned, balancing my phone between my ear and shoulder as I locked my motel room. "Or at least someone you're not related to. So you'll be here in a half-hour?"

"More like forty-five minutes. Should I pick anything up before I get there?"

"No thanks, Joe. I've got the decorations, food, presents, everything at the motel room with me. We'll only have one hour to get everything ready at the apartment. Nancy will be at Aaron's parent-teacher conference between 10:30 and 11:30 tomorrow morning." Nancy thought that I was still working a case in the Midwest. It had wrapped up yesterday, however, and I was currently planning the best surprise birthday lunch that I could, given the time constraints.

My brother laughed. "This works out great for Aaron, too, then. This will help distract his mother if she gets a bad report from his teacher."

"That's a plus." I began walking across a field, taking a shortcut. "I'll be back at the room by the time you get here."

"Roger that. I'll be there."

"Just get here, Joseph."

"There better be separate beds in that motel room, Elder Brother, or you're sleeping in the bathtub."

I pressed the button to end the call, then turned up my collar and thrust my hands in my coat pockets. Motel key in one pocket, twenty dollars and cell phone in the other. Nancy never compromised the quality of her marzipan, so I needed to head into the Italian district to pick up that last item for her gift basket. The weather was seasonably appropriate, a cold mist mixing with chilly air. Tolerable enough by itself, but exacerbated by periodic blasts of wind.

Reaching the sidewalk, I turned left, following the aroma of marinara sauce, sausage and peppers, and Italian cheeses. The smell was much fainter than it would have been a few hours ago. Now, at 9:47 p.m. in the off season, only a couple of restaurants were still open, and working on closing. Almost every business had an apartment on its second floor, an old-fashioned setup. Only a couple of pedestrians walked with me on the streets, and I sped up my pace in case the store succumbed to temptation to close early.

Leaving the scents, I continued down the dimly-lit street to the mom-and-pop shop at the even more sparsely populated end of the Italian district. The old-fashioned, widely spaced street lamps intended to convey a romantic sense of culture, but now cast off an eerie sense of hazy obscurity. I would be glad to get back into my motel room.

The bright lights of Santori's beckoned me to safety, and I entered their sphere and opened the door. I felt some tension leave my shoulders as I entered the small grocery store, heading straight to Aisle 4. I checked the dates for the freshest marzipan log, green for Nancy's favorite color, and headed toward the register.

"Evening, Mr. Hardy," Mr. Santori greeted pleasantly. He'd rung me up before I'd even reached the counter. "Just in time. You're the last customer of the night. There must be a special occasion coming up. You buy the same item every time."

"Nancy's birthday," I confirmed with a smile, handing him my twenty-dollar bill.

"It's quite an honor that you think of my family's store whenever your family has a milestone," Mr. Santori said. "Change in the bag?"

"Please." I rolled the bag tighter and stuffed it into my coat pocket. "Thanks. Have a good night."

"You, too, Mr. Hardy." Mr. Santori locked the door behind me after I left. He turned and headed toward the back of his store to finish preparing for closing.

Later, I would waste countless hours imagining how my life would have been different if I had just had some kind of thirty-second distraction before I'd left the store. If only Mr. Santori had had to break a roll of quarters, or if the marzipan had been relocated to Aisle 6 so I'd had to search for it, or, please God, if only there had been a puddle of water on the floor and I'd fallen and broken both legs.

I exited the store and frowned, hearing a subdued, passionate argument coming from an alley on my right. It was very close to me, maybe fifteen feet away, right on the border of the radius of light from Santori's streetlamp. I debated whether to turn left and take the long way home.

A sharp flash of light appeared on my right, along with the unmistakable staccato bang of a gun shot. One more flash, one more bang.

A body fell from the shadows of the alley, followed by the appearance of a person's silhouette carrying a gun.

I froze in shock.

A second later I was alone with the body, the sound of receding footsteps quickly fading into silence. Not seeing me, the killer had retreated down another alley.

I quickly sidestepped to the left, entering the milky blackness as apartment doors began to open. I walked at an even pace. A scream echoed down the narrow street.

I could not be seen here. If I left the scene of the crime, it would incriminate me in the eyes of the law, but if I was seen at all, I was prone to immediate vigilante justice. And the police would never get here in time.

But, mostly, I was hoping that my name would be off the record entirely for this incident, and I could go back to living my semi-normal life. Solving crimes in which I was not a suspect or a witness.

I couldn't run or I would draw attention to myself. The dark colors I was wearing allowed me to blend into the darkness, and I was well out of reach of sight or sound by the time I heard the crowds gathering at the scene of the crime. But then I heard footsteps behind me and in front of me, and apartment doors in front of me began to open. I ducked left into an alleyway.

Both pairs of footsteps rounded the bend with me, and I surveyed my surroundings for a place to hide, channeling my growing fear to focus on a task. Nothing. There was a dumpster in the middle of the alley. And an opening to another street at the end that I knew I would never get to in time. I was 5'10, and could tell from their gait that I had shorter legs than my pursuers.

Police sirens began to wail in the distance. Too far away to be any help to me. And calling for help would only alert these men to my exact position.

There were now more than two pairs of footsteps behind me.

Adrenaline coursing through me, heart rate speeding up, my body re-routing blood toward the large muscles of my legs, I began sprinting toward the dumpster, only one feasible goal on my mind.

I vaguely heard the surprised laughter, then the pursuit of several men behind me. I pulled my phone from my pocket as I ran, pressing a button on the side. A small tracking device ejected from the phone, and I pressed the tip of it to activate it. The signal would go straight to Joe's phone, and he would know immediately where my location was and that I was in serious danger. I pressed a button to wipe the memory from my phone.

The dumpster loomed in front of me, an impossible goal that seemed forever out of reach, but finally, gasping, I clutched the edge of the dumpster for balance as I turned the corner and ducked behind it. I had at most a three-second lead.

I swallowed the device, gagging during the first attempt but successful on the second. I silently placed the contents of my pockets behind the dumpster, and was still able to trip the first of my assailants as he approached my position. I grabbed the second's hand, twisting and flipping him, then sidestepped a third's attack in order to make a break for the street at the end of the alley.

A fourth man slammed into me from behind, and we both fell hard onto the ground. I tried to gasp for air, the wind knocked out of me. I hadn't even seen him coming; it was just too dark. He roughly held my hands behind my back, and someone else had recovered enough to cover my mouth and eyes. I kicked, trying for purchase to stand once more, until a third man wrapped his arms around my legs.

"There are five of us and one of you, and I've already called for the van to meet us here," one of the men said in a distinctively Italian accent. "Come on, man. We don't want to hurt you. We just want to talk. But we can't very well let you speak here or you might call for help. We'll just have to wait for the van. Good thing I came outside just in time to see you try to sneak away." I felt hands frisking me, searching all pockets, coming up empty.

I stopped all struggling. I wanted them as off their guard as possible when they put me into the van. I would have only one chance of escape. Not much of a chance, but maybe if I broke free…

A few minutes later, I heard an engine and saw the edges of my vision brighten from headlights. The engine idled and my vision blackened once again. I heard the side door open. Someone shoved a gag into my mouth.

I never had an opportunity to resist. Hugging me from all sides, my arms wrapped around my torso and my legs pinned together, they efficiently picked me up and threw me into the van in only a few seconds. The van door closed and we began gently rumbling down the street.

Two men held each of my arms, and one continued to hug my legs. When they uncovered my eyes and took my gag out, they had ski masks covering their faces. I could only see each man in profile when we passed under a street light. There were no seats in this van except for the driver and shotgun, and I and the four others all sat on the floor. The van's windows were severely tinted so that no one could see in. They stripped me until I sat shivering in my jeans and bare feet, now utterly vulnerable. One person held my cell phone and my hotel key that they'd found behind the dumpster.

"He already wiped the phone," the man holding it reported. "He's staying at La Quinta, but the key doesn't say which room."

"Well, let's try to get this done the easy way," the man with the strong accent sighed, as if this were an inconveniencing part of his work. He must be the leader. He opened his arms in my direction, palms up. He was holding a Smartphone in one hand. "Have we hurt you, sir? No, we haven't. We're wearing masks and not telling you any of our names, which means we can let you out of this van at any time since you can't give the cops a description. You're not speaking, which is smart. You're waiting to see how much we know. You'll find out soon. Pull up here, driver, we're meeting him at the next corner on the right."

The van stopped and a seventh man jumped into shotgun, immediately covering his face with the proffered ski mask. The van started moving again. "His name is Frank Hardy. Married to Nancy Hardy. Mr. Santori was very cooperative when I began to describe what would happen to his family otherwise. He sends his apologies, by the way, Mr. Frank Hardy."

The cold knot in the pit of my stomach began to grow. But I couldn't blame Mr. Santori.

"Were you on the security cameras?"

"No, he came out the back door when I called him. We got all our business done before the cops showed up."

"Yes, Santori has always been cooperative, ever since he first came to the neighborhood," the man with the heavier accent responded. He must be the leader. "So cooperative that his security cameras download onto my Smartphone without a trace. Cutting edge technology, huh? I'll show you the interesting footage I have on you in a minute. But first, let's see if Google can help me find out if Mr. Frank Hardy has bought any real estate in River Heights in the past few years, since it is a matter of public record…no, no…ah, yes. Here it is. Driver, head to the Woodlands Condos, 341 East Woodridge, Unit 34."

Dear God. Aaron was staying at a friend's house tonight to take advantage of the day off for parent-teacher conferences. But Nancy… _Come on, Joe._

"Okay," the leader said. He leaned toward me. "Let's see what pretty little wife or kids you have at home. In the meantime, let's watch this footage together." He turned his phone so I could see it in the darkness. It was the footage from just outside the store. The camera had a small radius, only intending to see people entering and exiting the store. I had both hands in my pockets, and my head turned in shock as a flash of light came from a direction offscreen. He waited a fraction of a second more and paused the frame.

"So the good news is that you're in the clear," he said. "We know that you did not kill Barzini. But do you see this facial expression right here?" He used his thumb and forefinger to enlarge the picture. "First you looked uncomfortable. Then you were shocked by the gunshots. But then right here…things get personal. You're looking up, not down at the body. Santori's isn't too far from where Barzini's body ended up. You saw the killer's face close up. And this picture right here tells me that you _recognized_ him."

I looked from his phone and back into the direction of his face. My upper lip had a thin sheet of sweat on it. The van was utterly dark except for his phone.

"We are one quarter of a mile away from your house," he said quietly. He opened a wrapper and began to chew. Nancy's marzipan. "I am waiting for a name. And it had better be the _correct_ name. And a real name of a person who exists, because I have no intention of letting you out of this van until I have a physical address attached to this person. But you wouldn't want to condemn an innocent person anyway, would you, Mr. Frank Hardy, who lives at 341 East Woodridge, Unit 34. If I find out later that you've given me an incorrect name, then that person will die as well as your family member of my choosing. And my network of people is much bigger than just us in this van."

I finally spoke. "I didn't recognize anyone. I was in shock." He put his phone away and I could see nothing now.

He sighed. "Strike one. Is that your final answer?" He motioned to his colleagues and they began tying my arms and legs. One man restrained each of my arms and legs, and I couldn't move at all.

"Please, you've got to believe me," I pleaded. I definitely wanted to continue behaving as an average civilian; all rules would change if he discovered that I was a detective. "It was a tall man, maybe a little over six feet. Caucasian, with black hair."

"Strike two. Don't dare try to give me further descriptions. I want a name. And congratulations," he said drily as the van slowed and pulled to the side. "You're the only douchebag we've ever had who'd rather endanger his family than give us a simple piece of helpful information. This is your last chance before we bring your family into this, sir."

"I swallowed a tracking device before you picked me up," I snapped. "The cops have had all this time to track me down. If you let me out of this van right now-"

I felt the gag roughly shoved back into my mouth despite my resistance. "That's a new one, I'll give you that, man."

I made a break for it as the van door opened, but they were ready for it and easily subdued me. Panic blurred my vision, my pulse rising. "Don't underestimate the wife. He knows how to fight, so maybe she does," the leader advised his men, pulling the van door shut.

I frantically prayed to whatever deity was listening. The time dragged on. Maybe Nancy could get help. Maybe she could keep them away and run outside. Maybe someone would see. _Joe, we need you_ _ **now**_ _._

"I'll wait until we have your family in here and we're miles away before I ask you again," the leader said to me. "By the time I take that rag out of your mouth, you will be screaming the name of that hit man. Feisty little thing, they've been in there for a few minutes. But we'll be long gone by the time your security system's help arrives."

I worked on loosening my ropes. My wrists began to bleed. "Knock it off," the man said who was holding my arms, yanking the knot to make it even tighter than it was.

"No need to be afraid, sir," the leader soothed, patting my knee in an ironic fatherlike gesture. "As soon as you give me that name, we will pull over and release you and your wife. Here they come now. _Porca miseria,_ I told them not to hurt your wife, believe me I did."

The van door opened. I thrashed frantically and managed to twist around on the floor, pushing off the side of the van to try to get out the door. This earned me several savage punches in the stomach. I was doubled up in pain as the three men jumped back in, shoving me back on the other side of the van and unceremoniously dumping their new burden onto the floor. They shut the door as the van pulled slowly away.

"Now that wasn't very nice," the leader said crossly. "Your wife must have put up quite a fight for my guys to have to give her that whack on the head, right, fellas? Is the coast clear?"

It was still pitch black inside the van, and silent as well. I heard Nancy's soft moan of pain and yelled into my gag.

"No one's following us," another confirmed. The van sped up and merged. We were on the highway. They were hiding right out in the open, within a moving target.

"All right. Well, Mr. Frank Hardy, we are tiring of this game. So the next part of this interrogation will take place with a flashlight." He turned a flashlight directly on Nancy's crumpled body, light reflecting off a large surface area of clotting blood in her hair. "This is your payment for strike one and strike two."

He motioned to one of his men, who gave Nancy a right hook to her mouth and a punch in her nose.

I again screamed into my gag, writhing with my bonds and the men who held me in place. I forced myself to gather my wits. Joe had to be here soon. But how could I stall when I couldn't move and couldn't speak? Couldn't comfort my wife?

"Don't give them whatever they want, Frank," Nancy said weakly, her words slurring through a swollen mouth.

"Hey, take a look at this from her purse," the man in the far left corner said in a strange voice. He had a small flashlight in his hands. "I found an old ID. It says that her name is Nancy Drew. Her maiden name, I guess. Is this Carson Drew's daughter, the lawyer who refused to be paid off in Bianchi's case a few years ago?"

The leader slowly began to laugh, finally ending in a hearty bellow. "I'll be damned," he said. "Small world."

"I've been waiting for an opportunity like this," the other man spat, throwing Nancy's purse to the side. He kicked Nancy in the ribs. She groaned, rolling to her other side.

I lunged to the side, knocking him over and hurling my body toward the rear of the van, trying desperately to kick open the rear door. Two of them stopped me, slamming my head so hard against the floor of the van that my ears rang. The four men assigned to me restrained me once more, flat on the floor. I'd barely moved a couple of feet.

I slowly, painfully turned my head to the side. Through blurred vision, I saw the man rise to his knees and began to unbuckle his belt.

"I will show one final act of mercy and turn off the flashlight for this," the leader said, plunging us into darkness once more. "With compliments to Carson Drew."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Received reviews from my four faithfuls…therefore, time to update Maybe one day the "guests" will create an account so I can thank them properly, too.

Joe

Thursday, April 10, 2011 (Cont'd)

Red and white flashes of light alternated in my peripheral vision, accompanied by the plaintive wail of sirens. This had started out as a pathetic three-car operation, but emergency vehicles had met us on the highway. My eyes were on the screen of my phone more than they were on the road, following the signal emitted from the tracking device.

I grabbed for my radio, swearing as I dropped the handset. I groped for it while fighting for control of the wheel, the needle on my speedometer nearing the triple digits. Finding it, I pressed the button and shouted into it. "He's in that white van up there in the right lane. I'm positive. That's the one."

"Okay, I'm moving in first," I heard the police chief say. "We're shooting out the tires." He rattled off a variety of instructions to his minions. He had no instructions for me.

I'd be damned if I sat this one out.

I waited until one cruiser passed me, then two, then cut off the third to take his place in line. The van was doing the speed limit, so we each had to significantly pump the brakes to get an accurate shot.

The van sped up and swerved. Trying to become an unpredictable target.

I veered off sharply into the shoulder. My tires burned, and I briefly lost control of the vehicle as I passed over the rumble strip. I forced the wheel into submission, snatching my firearm and lowering the window as soon as I was able. If this van wanted to try going offroad, I'd be ready for it.

"Wheels only—fire!" I heard the command through my radio and fired at the back passenger tire, continuing to shoot even when it began to shred.

The van rocked back and forth as the driver fought for control. He was forced to slam on the brakes due to at least two ruined tires, the van leaning dangerously to one side as it skidded to a stop.

I pressed down hard on the brakes, fishtailing the car slightly in order to stop quicker. I opened the door, ready to run to the van, then thought to sloppily throw on my bullet-proof vest. The ambulance pulled up behind me. I hoped we wouldn't have much use for it.

"Detective!" the police chief shouted, hiding behind his cruiser. "Don't move in yet. We have no idea if they'll resist. Are you too emotionally involved to participate?" He motioned to his officers to move into formation.

I shook my head rapidly. "No, sir. I'll follow your orders." I grabbed my firearm and found an open position. We were surrounding the van.

"Come out with your hands up!" the chief shouted. "We have you surrounded. Do not touch the hostages. We will not shoot if you surrender peacefully."

I swallowed my fear, masking it with anger. I had to stand here with the officers and wait, no matter how willing I was to risk my personal safety.

Another painful few seconds went by, and the van's back door opened. One by one, several large men in masks climbed out with their hands up. The driver got out and did likewise. I swore softly. _Seven men._

The chief nodded to his officers. "Lie down with your hands behind your backs," an officer said briskly, and the team began applying handcuffs. "There are seven of you? That's all?"

"Yeah," one of them mumbled.

The police chief gave me a hard look, making sure that I would continue to follow orders. He gestured for a female officer to be the first to look inside the van.

She opened the door, assessed the situation, and climbed in. She returned a moment later. "It's safe," she called. "We need paramedics. A stretcher. Blankets." A paramedic rushed forward with blankets, disappearing inside the van and closing the door behind her. The dome light in the van came on.

 _Blankets_. I looked pleadingly at the police chief. He waited another moment, then took my firearm. "Comfort your family and don't make it worse," he said in a low voice.

I sprinted to the van, opening the door and jumping inside. "Frank! Nancy! It's Joe. I'm here," I said, comforting myself as much as them. "You're safe. You're safe."

Squinting to adjust to the light, I saw a paramedic removing a gag from Frank's mouth. "I love you, Nancy, you're okay, you're okay," Frank said soothingly, despairingly, as soon as he was able. He was bound tightly with ropes, curled against Nancy.

And I saw Nancy wrapped in a bloody blanket, confirming my worst fears.

"Oh, no, Nancy," I said, my heart sinking. She was barely conscious. I had not gotten here in time.

"Move to the side, please," the paramedic ordered, leaning over Nancy and continuing her assessment. "She might not want you so near to her, sir." She got vital signs but soon gave up her attempts to communicate with Nancy. Her team had up a stretcher outside, and two of them adjusted a board between it and the van floor. They counted to three and easily transferred Nancy's light body onto the board, then pushed the board out of the van door and onto the stretcher. "I love you, Nancy," Frank said softly after her. "I'm sorry."

I waved away a first responder and took his place disentangling Frank from his bonds. Frank's eyes continued to follow Nancy as they transferred her into the ambulance. "There's nothing you could have done, Frank," I said firmly. "There were seven of them. There is nothing that you could have done."

"Follow my finger, please, sir," another paramedic said, crouching in front of Frank.

Frank did as instructed, slowly and in a daze. He rubbed his bloodied wrists as I released the final knot and squatted in front of him, starting to untie his ankles. He looked banged up, but his injuries were a skinned knee compared to Nancy's.

The paramedic completed his tests and nodded, satisfied.

"Mr. Hardy? Detective Morris." A man in uniform flashed his badge at Frank.

"Please, I'm trying to get in the ambulance with my wife," Frank said. He tried to help me unravel his ankles, but he was shaking too badly. I put a hand briefly on his shoulder to signal him to stop.

The detective looked at the paramedic. "This is quite time sensitive."

"He has several injuries, including some head injuries. He'll need a full evaluation, but he's not critical. If you could keep your interview short, please," the paramedic said, exiting the van.

"Just a few questions, sir," Detective Morris said. He looked pointedly at me. "Alone."

My entire body reacted with a rage response, but I immediately forced it down. "Of course." I moved each of Frank's feet to finish untangling him, then threw the last of the ropes to the side. My hands on his knees, I met his eyes for a long, last look.

"I'll be okay, Joe," Frank said wearily. His eyes were unfocused.

"Okay. I'll be back as soon as your questions are done." I gave his knees a final squeeze and climbed out the back of the van. I shoved my hands in my pockets and put my head down, quickly walking to the left. Away from the criminals who had done this to my family. With any luck, those looking in my direction would assume I was upset and needed time to myself. When I was as far on the outside of the radius of headlights that I could possibly be, I doubled back to hide behind the open rear van door. A terrible hiding place, and I would only have a minute if that.

"We saw the grocery store's security footage, sir," Detective Morris was saying, apparently trying to sound soothing and encouraging but actually sounding frustrated and sarcastic. "You looked over and paused. Your eyes widened."

"I did not see who the killer was," Frank said. "I saw a silhouette run the other way. Big, over six feet tall, wearing boots. Heavier build."

"Your brother told me you've lived in River Heights for years. Your father-in-law brought down key mafia players. We're both detectives, sir. We are highly observant, read the news, have plenty of connections," Detective Morris continued. "Obviously a lot of people were convinced that you recognized this person."

Blood rushed past my ears, the beginnings of a horrific headache.

"I did not see who the killer was," Frank said. "A big man, a heavy build. He wore boots. I didn't even see what else he was wearing." Frank was repeating his exact words, a tactic to make sure he didn't give any further information. But why wouldn't he want to give any further information?

There was a long pause. "Then I suppose I'll need to question you regarding all the details, to make sure we can gather all the clues that we possibly can. Immediate testimony is the most valuable in court. If you tell me everything you know, we might be able to get harsher sentences for these men who attacked your wife. You'd like that, of course."

Another pause.

Then we heard the loud sirens of the ambulance as it began to pull out into traffic. Frank swore loudly, and I heard creaks and bangs as he changed positions in the van.

"Another ambulance is coming for you," Detective Morris was saying as I once again approached the rear of the van. "In just a few minutes. You'll be with your wife soon. Sir, you _cannot_ be here for the questioning."

Frank turned toward me. "Take care of my wife, Joe," he said. "Follow her to the hospital. I'll be right there. Go on. And make sure Aaron is safe."

I gave him one last meaningful look. "Nothing you could have done, Frank." I ran to do as he'd asked.

I would not see him again for years.

The chief stopped me as I got in my car, motioning for me to roll down the window. "So you'll be informing both families?"

My rage returned. But yes, it was _my_ duty. It was my duty to explain to everyone that I hadn't been there for Frank and Nancy when they most needed me. And maybe if this police chief hadn't hemmed and hawed for a few minutes on the phone, Nancy's wounds would be less personal. "Yes, sir," I spat.

He nodded. "Good. I expect you at the station tomorrow to give your statement."

"I'll be there. If my family can spare me." I turned on the engine and pulled onto the turnpike, pulling out my cell phone for a very unpleasant call to Carson Drew.

 _Emasculated_. My brother had looked utterly emasculated. Impotent to save his wife from the worst that could happen to a woman.

Joe

April 24, 2011 (Two weeks later)

I dodged the crowd the best that I was able to while in great haste. I got a couple of mildly annoyed looks, but most people appeared appropriately sympathetic. This was a hospital, after all, and I was headed toward Intensive Care.

"Joe!" I followed the sound of Carson Drew's voice. He was coming out of the waiting room to take me aside. Still disheveled, red-rimmed eyes, looking fifteen years older than his 54. "It's okay, we have a minute. She's speaking to Hannah now."

"What's going on? Why does she need to see me immediately?" Nancy had shown remarkable improvement in the past two weeks, but whenever she wasn't medically ordered to rest, she'd been interviewed by law enforcement.

"We finally got news about a lot of things today," he said in a low voice, checking to make sure that we were alone in the hallway. "She'll survive, we've always known that, but we're still waiting to see what the aftereffects are of such a severe concussion. Her nose is healing with ugly layers of scar tissue, so she'll need reconstructive surgery. The oral surgeon is recommending a significant amount of dental work. The cracked ribs will still need some more time to heal on their own. Other than that, it's all bruising." His eyes filled with fresh tears, and he turned away from me. But not before I saw something else in his eyes: fury.

He had never quite forgiven Frank for impregnating Nancy at a young age. And now Frank had allowed this to happen to her, and wasn't even cooperating with the police.

"Any word about your brother?" Carson spat, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"I still haven't seen him," I said, anger stirring for entirely different reasons than Carson's. "I have no idea where my brother is. I've waved my federal badge at a dozen people a day, but apparently it's a security violation to treat us like human beings."

"They only thing they'll tell us is that Frank still claims not to know who killed Barzini," Carson said.

"Well, it's about time they start considering that maybe he's telling the truth. How many people are there in the world? What are the odds…" the hollow words dissolved on my tongue as Carson looked at me sharply. Suspiciously.

My blood froze.

"There she is." Carson nodded curtly toward the ICU door. Hannah shuffled slowly toward a seat in the waiting room, tears streaking her cheeks. Carson rushed toward her, catching her by the elbow before she collapsed. "Get in there now, Joe," Carson said in dismissal as he helped Hannah sit down. His tone of voice echoed my alarm. Whatever news Hannah had heard, Carson hadn't heard yet.

I followed a nurse into ICU, giving ID and submitting to security procedures. My heart rate sped up significantly as I approached Nancy's door. I had a vision in my mind that I couldn't shake: Nancy on the floor of the van, bleeding and semi-conscious. I knocked gently, then opened the door.

I reigned in my impulses, keeping a neutral expression as I took in Nancy's bruises. They were in every stage of healing, creating a kaleidoscope of dark colors on her face and neck. Her mouth was swollen, and there was a bandage covering her nose. She gave a small smile when she saw me, as small was all that she could do.

At least there were less wires than I'd been expecting. She moved over slightly on the bed and reached her arms out for me. I hadn't been sure that she would want a man to touch her after what had happened, and I moved toward her gratefully. "Oh, Nance," I breathed, sitting on the bed and wrapping my arms around her fragile upper body. "If only this had happened to me instead."

"I don't want to talk about it, Joe. But I'll be okay," she said, resting her head on my shoulder. Her response during every other case injury had been, "I've been through worse."

I held her for several moments longer. "How's Aaron?" she asked. "He must be happy to be back at my dad's house again."

It had fallen on me to explain to Aaron that his father and mother had been injured in a hostage situation, and were safe and doing well but unavailable due to legal requirements. "He's doing well, asking when it's safe for him to come visit you. He thinks the rotating officers assigned to him are there for his personal amusement. I walked in on one of them playing Dance Dance Revolution with him the other day."

Nancy laughed, then covered her mouth in embarrassment to hide the worst of her dental problems. "Joe…I'm shaken up, I'll admit that, but I'm already getting stronger. I'd be discharged soon, if circumstances were different. An agent came to see me." Nancy lifted her head to look at me sadly.

"Why is that a sad thing?" I asked urgently. "An agent of what?"

"An agent from the Witness Protection Program," she said softly.

I jumped out of the hospital bed, wide-eyed. "You can't be serious."

"Frank is already in hiding. They took him last week."

Already in hiding. I stared at her, aghast, as if her saying so had made it happen. My brother was lost to contact. I felt a spasm of vertigo, and forced myself to continue to think of Nancy instead of myself. "And he still isn't giving any more details?"

She shook her head. "Maybe he really didn't see who it was, Joe. He passed a polygraph test."

We looked at each other and said nothing. We both knew that Frank was more than capable of generating a false positive score on a lie detector test.

"We just barely made it into WITSEC," Nancy continued. "They're considering his witness to the crime against me as eligibility criteria. I'm sure they're hoping that once we're away, once he knows that his family is safe, he'll give the testimony that will bring this killer down and expose whatever scheme the mafia had going on."

"Once _we're_ away?"

"I have a few more days to recover, and Aaron and I will be joining Frank next week," Nancy said, leaning her head back against the pillow. "It's only temporary, Joe. Just until after we testify in court, after this whole thing blows over. Maybe we won't be able to settle in River Heights anymore, but I'm ready for a change anyway. Plus I'm hearing reports that Barzini wasn't too popular. It's not like the entire mafia is after us."

"Everyone always thinks it's temporary." I sat back down on the bed and took her hand. I felt sluggish, like I had to swim through the motions. "Who is your WITSEC agent, Nancy?"

"Agent Wakefield."

My hand froze on hers. "What did you say?"

Nancy frowned. "You know Wakefield?"

"My father does. I've heard plenty of stories. He's as crooked as they come. Willing to sell information to the highest bidder, and somehow always covers his tracks perfectly." I ran a hand through my hair, agitated. "Oh, God, Nancy. And this is the man that is entrusted with every detail of your lives. And Frank isn't valuable to law enforcement because he hasn't given a name yet. So if Wakefield leads the mob to him for a considerable fee, they can get the name out of him and carry out their own justice without the police even getting involved again. And it's not like everything will be fine if Frank does produce a name, because that will piss off _other_ families in the mafia."

Nancy's breathing became more labored, and she winced with the pain of the broken ribs. A monitor next to her bed began to beep louder.

"I'm upsetting you," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. But you have to know what's going on, Nance. Wakefield knows that Frank is more valuable to the mafia right now, since he hasn't given information to law enforcement yet. What kind of contact information did Wakefield give you?"

"Just a switchboard number. He'll be sending field agents to actually move us."

"So we don't even have contact information. He can switch that number any time he wants." I shifted from one leg to the other.

"We'll request a change in agents," she said, leaning back and closing her eyes. She sounded tired.

I shook my head. "It'll never go through in time, and the feds aren't going to want to invest in new birth certificates, new social security cards, new relocation for your entire family, especially when Frank is annoying them this badly. They re-enacted the scene at Santori's several nights ago, and there is a good chance that Frank would be able to see more than he's saying he did."

A nurse opened the door abruptly, and moved to Nancy's monitor to begin pressing buttons. "You're upsetting her," she said brusquely to me. "Wrap it up."

"Come see me before I go, Joe," Nancy said. "I'll be here at least two more days. I promise."

"Of course," I said, kissing Nancy's forehead. I took one last look at her and exited the ICU.

My brother was already gone. He was at the mercy of a corrupt WITSEC agent. But I might be able to save Nancy and Aaron.


	8. Chapter 8

Joe

April 26, 2011

Two days later

"Nancy," I said, forcing a smile. Nancy was sitting up on the edge of her hospital bed. Her bruises were fading more each day, and she could take a deeper breath now. I could see the differences even from two days ago.

"I'm so glad you could get here quickly," she said, reaching her hand toward me. I took it and sat next to her, automatically scanning the room.

She anticipated me. "This place isn't bugged. I check every time I wake up and return to the room."

I nodded. "No Christmas tree?" I asked, pointing toward her barren IV.

"I'm stable enough to leave," she answered. "I'm leaving tonight."

And my heart somehow broke yet again.

"In the middle of the night. I still need surgeries, but I'll get them after I move. If they're safe." Her hands moved protectively to her stomach. There was something primal, something tenuously joyful in the gesture that made her secret obvious.

" _Nancy_."

She smiled, a full, radiant smile that gave me hope that she would again be the resilient woman I'd always known. This time she wasn't concerned about hiding her teeth.

"Wow," I said. I rubbed a hand over my facial stubble, neglected for a significant amount of time. "Congratulations. Life breaks through and wins."

"Exactly," she said dreamily. "Wakefield fed my doctor some kind of legal jargon that she wasn't allowed to tell me because it would affect Frank's case. But as soon as my doctor found out about my unorthodox discharge plan, she ran right in here and told me, consequences be damned. She said I had a right to know, since it might affect my decision."

I was only half listening, spending the other half of my brain doing some calculations. Frank's case had been quick, only ten days or so. Maybe they'd had a romantic night before he'd left.

Nancy gripped my shoulder, turning me abruptly toward her. "This is Frank's child," she said harshly, her eyes smoldering.

I nodded immediately. "Of course." And she was right. No matter the verdict of biology, this was still Frank and Nancy's child.

"Joe," Nancy said. "I've decided something. It's going to make everyone quite upset. I needed to talk to you first. I feel like if you understand, it will be easier helping everyone else understand."

I leaned my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands. I couldn't help my reaction. I had been the bearer of everyone's bad news for weeks now.

She continued like she hadn't seen. "It's very important to me that you don't feel responsible for my decision. I respect that you let me know all the facts ahead of time, so I can make my own choice as an adult. As a mother of two. Joe…Aaron and I aren't going to go into WITSEC with Frank. Not as long as the mob might have a contract out on him."

The breath blew forcefully out of my diaphragm. This was what part of me had wanted, to make sure Nancy and Aaron were safe. Nancy and Frank's _children_. But now I would have to witness the breakup of my brother's family. I knew what this would do to him.

"Dear God, Nancy," was all I could say. "How will you be protected?"

"Witness Protection is a voluntary program. Agent Wakefield was here yesterday morning. Furious that his careful plans won't be happening. He asked me if I was divorcing Frank, because there's different protocol for that. I said that it doesn't matter, according to the paperwork, since we'll all be getting new identities anyway." Nancy shrugged. "I'm re-assigned to a new temporary agent. She's arranging our move for tonight. Wakefield has no idea where I'm going. Aaron and I need to hang out in a new town for a couple of months, get these surgeries, dye my hair, create a new identity. Aaron will get fake school records. Then I'm dropping out, and they know it. All I want is a chance at a new start. Not to live in constant hiding."

"This still isn't making me feel great about your family's safety, Nancy," I said in a warning tone. "You have a concussion. Can't you delay this decision?"

"No. And I think I will be safe. Frank proved to the mafia that he is not speaking. He and I have been separated since this happened. He's not telling the police. He's had no opportunity to tell me. And he has also proven to the mob that hurting me might not give them the information that they want anyway. I might not be…big enough bait." Nancy looked away.

My hands balled into fists. So much out of my control, so much that made no sense. "Nancy, something must be going on. Frank loves you more than life itself, believe me about that. All of this is my fault, he knew I was coming, he thought I would get there earlier than I did."

"You did the best that you could do, and I don't blame you in the least. And I have an idea for how to keep Aaron and the baby safe."

I waited.

Nancy took a deep breath. "Come with me, Joe. I want to get out of River Heights for awhile anyway. Aaron is the spitting image of you. If the mob comes after us, they'll think that we're a couple. And they'll know that we are certainly no longer bait to get Frank to confess, if his brother ran away with his wife. And Aaron and this child are safe if…the mafia thinks that you are their father."

The room seemed to spin. More than it usually did these days.

"We'll get apartments next door to each other," Nancy urged. "You don't have to feel like you're being unfaithful to Frank. You'll be helping to keep us safe. Helping me with the kids."

"Listen to yourself," I hissed. "Seriously, Nancy?"

"I'm serious. And it's just temporary." She suddenly burst into tears. "I hope."

I held her while she wept for her husband, for the thought that this might not be temporary. I would do my own grieving later. Not now, during these precious last few minutes with Nancy.

"What if Frank wants joint custody of Aaron?" I said eventually, desperately trying to find a nail in the coffin to this ridiculous plan.

"Then we'll deal with it. But I'd be shocked. He wouldn't go against my wishes, and absolutely wouldn't compromise our safety. Especially not after what happened. I know my husband that much, at least." Nancy handed me a small scrap of paper. "This will be my address, at the Jersey Shore. If you choose to meet me, wait at least two months. I'm going to try to get a job as a detective in Atlantic City."

I smiled strangely. "Ironic. That's the mafia's old hangout."

"It's appropriate. I'll be working to make sure all justice is on the books and the mob will never be coming back." Nancy stood up and carefully walked me to the door. She winced at the pain, a lingering headache from the concussion.

One final obstacle occurred to me, calling out among all the thousands. "Aaron worships Frank. He will never accept that his father is out there somewhere, not with him."

Nancy gave me a hard look. "My agent is aware of that problem. We will be telling Aaron that it is impossible to ever see his father again. That the mafia has….taken him out." She hugged me quickly and shut her door behind me.

Joe

Christmas Eve, 2011

Atlantic City Regional Medical Center

I had one overriding thought the first time I held Reid in my arms.

This child has no father. He is one hundred percent Nancy.

"Three guesses, Nan. What am I going to comment on here?" I asked, grinning.

"The size of his hands?" she asked mischievously, exhausted but happy.

"Try again."

"I would imagine it would be his hair color."

"Your hair was strawberry-blonde, Nancy, but this kid has an impressively thick head of in-your-face red." Her hair was now bleached blonde and straightened. Reid was only half a day old, but I could actually run my fingers through his hair. I desperately tried not to analyze the child's features for a resemblance to the rapist that Nancy had testified against months before. The man who was now, thankfully, serving thirty years in prison. They'd been able to convict for other criminal activities as well, all related to extortion. We hadn't seen Frank at court; they'd deliberately scheduled him for a different day. Maybe at a different court, for all we knew.

Nancy laughed and held out her arms for her baby. She snapped on a nursing blanket and guided her son's head underneath, helping him attach.

Totally impervious to the fact that I was present. I had a hard time looking, yet also a hard time looking away.

"My aunt on my mother's side had shockingly red hair," Nancy said, leaning back in the hospital bed. "I hear it's a recessive gene. Apparently the ginger is so strong in my family that it couldn't even entirely bypass me."

"Hi again," a nurse said, peeking behind the curtain. "Excellent. Looks like he's taking to you well, Ms. Owens. Make sure you have skin on skin contact whenever you can."

"Will do," Nancy said with a smile. I remembered this tired exuberance from when she gave birth to Aaron. Pregnancy and birth gave a healthy, proud glow to her.

"The previous nursing shift had this form filled out to apply for your baby's birth certificate, but I noticed that the line designating the baby's father was left blank. Should I submit the form as it is?" the nurse asked. She glanced at me.

Nancy looked at me, then looked away. It was up to me.

"Joseph Hardy," I said thickly. It felt like an utter betrayal to Frank.

The nurse jotted my name down, checking to make sure she'd spelled it correctly, then nodded to someone behind her. A photographer came in.

"Family baby pictures?" she asked.

"Just of the mother and child, please," I said, irritated. And utterly irrational. I was willing to claim fatherhood of my brother's sons, but not willing to get pictures taken.

After several minutes, Nancy said, "Come on, Joe. Please. Just one picture of the three of us."

I sat carefully on the side of Nancy's bed, putting my arm along the top of the raised mattress. Not touching either of them, and giving more of a grimace than a smile.

"Thank you," Nancy said when the photographer had left.

I closed the door behind the photographer. "Thank you for at least making sure it was my decision, Nancy," I said grudgingly. Aaron's new birth certificate also had my name listed as father. We'd fought about it at length.

 _"It's because I want you to automatically have custody of the kids if anything happens to me,"_ Nancy had argued. _"It may or may not be safe for them to go right back to my dad's."_

 _"They are my brother's kids and he would make custody decisions."_

Her next words had settled the argument. _"You know that when I decided not to join Frank, I gave up all right to know anything about him. We have no idea if he's even still alive."_

Reid disengaged himself and began to cry. I looked over Nancy's shoulder and held my arms out, rising from the bed once my hands were secure under his armpits. "Shhh," I said gently, patting my nephew on the back and bouncing him in place.

"He could have contacted me by now. It's a security violation, but he could have called you. Or your parents. Through the WITSEC switchboard. Just to tell us that he's okay." Nancy lost the fight, and wiped moisture from her cheeks.

This was another argument we'd had many times, but it still never failed to make me defensive. "Obviously you know Frank quite well, but so do I, and for longer," I said tightly. "And I am the same gender as him. I imagine that all Frank was told is that his wife did not want to go into the Witness Protection Program with him, and was telling their son that he was dead. He must think that you hate him for what he witnessed happening to you. And he believes that he is endangering you if he contacts you."

"Then why hasn't he contacted _you_ yet?" Nancy asked.

I blew out my breath. "I don't know…maybe he's worried about _my_ safety? Or maybe he really is trying for a fresh start. He doesn't want any reminders of the trauma he left." Or maybe my brother was dead. Ratted out by a rat of an agent.

"Or a reminder of the people he left," Nancy corrected.

"You left him."

Nancy's face crumpled in despair, and I instantly regretted my word choice. "I'm sorry, Nance," I said, sitting once again on the bed and handing her baby back. Her curls were beginning to fight to the surface, and I tried to tame them enough to fit behind her ears. "You did what you felt needed to be done. We all feel trapped, we all feel frustrated. To have spent our entire careers fighting crime, and now to be facing such a massive criminal underground that we have to submit to. _Temporarily_. It feels like we aren't being true to our beliefs."

"Temporarily," Nancy repeated fiercely. She held Reid so tightly that he let out a squawk of indignation. "Kids change all priorities."

Another nurse peeked in. "You should think about getting some rest tonight, Ms. Owens. I'll give you another few minutes with your baby, and then I need to run some tests." Nancy nodded and she left.

I glanced at my watch. "9:20."

"Why don't you head out, Joe. Oh, I decided I'm going to take the full 90 days for maternity leave. Did you tell your new partner that—"

I interrupted her. "I'm going to brief him on our cases the day after tomorrow. As in, not during Christmas. Enjoy your 90 days, and don't worry, crime will be waiting for us when you come back to the force."

"I'll try. What time are you picking up Aaron from his Christmas Eve party?" Nancy gave Reid a raspberry on his stomach.

"He told me that it would be utterly humiliating for me to come before 10:30. I think you made the right decision, letting him go tonight. 2011 was a horrific year."

"He already greeted his little brother this afternoon. I couldn't take this party away from him. Not when he's such a lady's man like his father." Nancy winced. "His uncle."

I pretended not to hear her mistake.

Nancy smiled and held out a hand to me. "Why don't you take Aaron to a diner or something in the morning. Have some male bonding time."

"Whatever he wants. I know how to fry an egg, you know. I'll stay overnight at your place and set up his stocking in the morning. Want me to bring his presents here to the hospital?"

"It's his choice wherever he wants to open them. Oh, but that means you'll have to set up his presents...wait…of course there are no more Christmas Eve present set-up rituals. But thanks for trying to salvage Christmas for him." Nancy leaned forward and presented her forehead for my kiss.

"Of course." I straightened and shrugged into my coat.

Nancy propped up her knees and rested Reid against her thighs. "And I will spend this Christmas Eve telling this baby all about his father."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: A couple of kind writers/reviewers have made detailed arguments to me in defense of this story actually being a "T" rating, despite some sensitive subjects. I'm very grateful for the confirmation and have adjusted the rating once more. Thanks, guys.

Joe

September 15, 2014

I just kept knocking rhythmically. I knew that he could hear me.

Finally a portly, middle-aged man with a sharply receding hairline came to the door. He didn't look frightened or alarmed by a perfect stranger visiting his home at 10:13 p.m. Instead he looked amused, a sardonic smile tilting the left side of his mouth up.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, taking a swig of beer. He wore blue plaid pajamas.

"Agent Wakefield, I presume?" I asked with a trace of irritation. It had been a long, hard road that led up to me standing on this porch. I'd started by searching for Frank, then switched to searching for the man who knew where he was. My father had gotten the phone number, but Wakefield had hung up no matter what I'd tried.

He peered at me. As it was summertime, I wore nothing but a T-Shirt, shorts, and sandals. I had nothing in my pockets, and I held my single car key (with no remote) in my hand. I held up my arms and circled once for him, as proof that I wasn't armed.

He looked into the street. "If this were a trap, it would have sprung by now," I said. "That's my rental car across the street. Do you want to take a look at it, or call someone to look at it? I have nothing, and I just want a few minutes of your time."

Wakefield looked at my car for a long moment and, satisfied, waved me inside. He shut the door and I followed him through an opulent house and into the living room. He completed a much more thorough inspection of me to be sure that I had no recording devices, and I grimaced but complied. He cursed loudly when he saw the current score on tonight's baseball game. Grumbling disgustedly, he put the TV on mute and beckoned to me to sit on the couch. He had the recliner.

There was an innocent-looking coffee table next to his recliner. I was sure that there was a recorder under there, and a button that he could use to summon help immediately. And on his person. And various technology hidden throughout his entire house.

"Thank you for seeing me," I said. "My name is—"

"Joseph Hardy," Wakefield interrupted, finally speaking for the first time. "Fenton's son. Frank's brother. And so of course I know why you're here. Miserable for me, always being literally in the middle of family drama."

"I'd be very grateful to know where my brother is." I'd been practicing this conversation for a long time, making sure it sounded assertive yet unthreatening. "I will tell Frank that I found him on my own."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that." Pushing the footrest on his recliner, Wakefield popped open a fresh beer. "You can guess that I get this kind of request frequently. I always start my answer by explaining what kind of program WITSEC is. The Witness Protection Program is purely voluntary. It was brought about to encourage endangered witnesses to testify in court. In exchange, the witness would get a chance to start over. A new social security number, new legal name, birth certificate, possibly plastic surgery in extreme cases. There are no armed guards, there's still an element of risk."

"I've worked in this field for seventeen years," I said.

"Yet you will listen as I finish explaining. I have only met your brother a handful of times since he was assigned to my caseload, just to process the documents that he needed to start over. And yearly visits. Once he got on his feet, our check-ins became more and more infrequent. Pretty soon they'll probably stop. Frank could drop out of the program any time he wants. WITSEC _recommends_ that participants tell no one from their former lives where they live, because that person might be tortured for information. As a _courtesy_ , WITSEC has addresses and phone numbers that participants and family members can use to relay calls and mail." Wakefield raised his eyebrows. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"You're saying that it was Frank's choice whether to contact me or not," I said, trying to keep a neutral affect. "And he has chosen not to. But it is not his job to protect me. It is my choice how much risk I want to take with my own life."

Wakefield glanced at the TV, cursing at the baseball game again. "It's not just about you. How many years has it been?"

"Over three," I said. The slight wavering in my voice was betraying my emotions.

"Frank has started a new life. But he's haunted by the old one. It's normal for participants in WITSEC, and I've seen a lot worse, believe me. Contact with you could trigger him. He'll want updates about everyone, he'll begin to question his decisions all over again. Is your peace of mind more important than his? And his wife's?"

I sighed and looked away. I ignored the part of my brain that recognized his kernel of truth. This man's name was synonymous with corruption, and I would not be given family therapy by him. My father had told me plenty of stories when they'd been on the NYPD together, and Wakefield shared information with the highest bidder.

"I would be _very_ grateful for information about where my brother is," I repeated. I picked up a pad of paper and wrote a number down, preceded by a dollar sign.

He took the piece of paper and propped on his stomach unseen. "Pretty impressive, though, your tracking skills. Sometimes people can find my office, but almost never my home address. I'm always on the move."

"Thank you."

"Which makes me wonder…you're good enough to find my new home address after I've been here less than two months, yet it's been over three years since your brother's incident. I wonder what delayed you in making this visit."

I felt a vein begin to throb in my left temple. I knew my early signs of anger well, and I knew that I absolutely must control my temper. _Remember what you want out of an interview,_ I remembered my dad saying. _Don't let them derail you._

"I suppose you must have begun to move on with your life, too," he continued. "And in with your brother's wife."

My hands immediately clenched into fists, and I shook with the effort to remain seated. "Nancy and I are not—"

"Not what?" Wakefield raised his eyes at me, daring me to add to his arsenal of sellable information.

I closed my mouth.

Wakefield chuckled, enjoying my rage a moment more, and then opened the piece of paper on his lap. "Your brother is a criminal justice professor at a small Christian college in rural, upstate New York." He took the pad and began writing an address.

My eyes widened in disbelief. Somehow, in all my imagined scenarios—wrestling boa constrictors in South America, herding reindeer in the Russian Arctic Circle—I had never considered something like this. "But…but…" I spluttered stereotypically. I paused. "But you gave me this information before I kept my end of the bargain."

Wakefield grinned. "I trust you. There's someone on the other side that is even more grateful if you don't follow through. You have forty-eight hours to deposit to this account." He reached into his coffee table and handed me his bank account information with a foreign bank, then turned the volume back on the TV and settled into his recliner. He'd known how this conversation would end as soon as he'd verified my identity at the door. Apparently this type of thing happened all the time.

I felt a fresh wave of revulsion at this man's lack of ethics. Yet I'd only accomplished half of my purpose here. "How can I possibly find out when it's safe for Frank to return? Or who exactly is after him?"

Wakefield squinted at the TV yet again before re-muting it. "Frank's trial dragged out for a long time, I remember that. When the full details were verified of what tactics the mob members used, the mob essentially disowned them. They fight dirty, but they still have their rules. Barzini wasn't high enough up in the hierarchy to be worth much involvement in the first place. I was waiting for the pathetic price on Frank's head to go up, but it's actually going down. Barzini still has his own loyal band of followers, though, a tight, small group who haven't forgotten. And there's one man in particular who's really out for Frank."

"Who?" I asked.

Wakefield raised his eyebrows. "That'll cost you, Tinkerbell."

I scowled, disgusted.

"And Barzini's followers are too many for you to bring down without the whole mafia getting involved. It's not safe for Frank to return, I'll give you that much information for free."

So I couldn't bring down this corrupt man even if that had been my purpose here tonight. He was my only source of information about who was out for Frank and when it was safe for Frank to return. "Thank you," I forced myself to say. "And I'd be grateful for a promise that you won't give any information about Frank to the other side."

"No promises. But for an extra ten thousand in that account, I promise to let you be the first to know whenever there's significant information to buy. For a price, to outbid the other side. This conversation is over now, Mr. Hardy." Wakefield spared me one last glance.

I jotted my phone number down for him, then walked down the hallway. I'd give him that extra ten thousand, but I'd be damned if I was going to kiss any more ass. "One last thing," Wakefield called to me. I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.

"Think hard before overriding your brother's choice to escape from his previous life. It's like the man _wants_ to live out there."

Joe

September 26, 2014

Eleven days later

I found that I fit in perfectly if I wore raggedy sweatpants, high tops, and a generic hoodie with the hood pulled up. Only the very beginnings of fine lines around my eyes revealed my true age of thirty-three years, and I had no intention of allowing anyone to get a good enough look to begin assessing.

I'd scoped out all of the parking lots, and then parked my car out in the most remote one. Reading the map I'd gotten online, I quickly found the pre-law department building. And floor. Houghton College was so small that pre-law took up less than half of the fourth floor of the Campus Center.

It wasn't difficult to track down Professor Frank Campbell's office.

Fortunately the other professors must also have been in class, meaning that I could stare through his window without interruption. It was thoroughly Frank. Neat to the point of meticulous. Plenty of books, only a couple of personalized touches. No photos.

I saw his class schedule posted on his door. And suddenly felt heat begin in my neck and flush across my face.

I shouldn't do it. It was too dangerous. Yet I was going to.

My body trembled with restrained anger. He hadn't contacted me in over three years. He had been hiding out here, creating a new life for himself.

Frank had never been optional in my life. It hurt a lot to see how perfectly he'd been able to pick up the pieces and move on without me.

I memorized the room number listed on his class schedule and took the stairs down to level 2. Easily finding room 221, I opened the door and took a seat in the back of Professor Frank Campbell's criminal justice class.

Some of the students spared me a cursory glance, but most ignored me. Frank had his back to the group, lecturing as he wrote on the chalkboard. His dark brown hair now had streaks of gray at the temples, and he wore an efficient white collared shirt with dress pants. He commanded the class, looking and acting every bit like an academic. I scanned the room and saw students frantically taking notes, attention riveted. Except for a couple of co-eds who were using the opportunity to check out his backside.

"The character of Sherlock Holmes was…" Frank put the chalk down, turned around, and immediately locked eyes with me. I defiantly returned his stare. Impressively, he didn't flinch. "Looks like we have a prospective student," he said with remarkable calm. "Welcome. To return to the topic, the character of Sherlock Holmes was designed to be a brain only. He doesn't have much of a personal life. He doesn't get sick. When he's on a case, he doesn't eat or sleep. Conan Doyle only gives him one brother, who doesn't appear until well into the series. Why? As a contrast. Mycroft Holmes is said to be smarter, yet he spends his time in intellectual pursuits and at the Diogenes Club. In essence, we in intellectual pursuits are behaving as Mycrofts, and then we will graduate to field work with Sherlock."

I raised my hand, eliciting several pairs of raised eyebrows. "Yet when Sherlock Holmes disappeared for years on end, it was not Watson that he trusted with his whereabouts. It was his _brother_ , Mycroft."

"Watson was too emotionally involved," the professor said coolly. "Sherlock apologized for the need of the deception when he returned. He was forced not to confide in Watson for Watson's own protection and to keep up the ruse, although he wanted to."

"As if Sherlock wasn't smart enough to evade the bad guys from his own hometown, if he had just called in favors and relied on his support network," I shot back. "It was an emotionally charged decision. Sherlock must have wanted to get out of town for a reason. Maybe he was ashamed of something, or running away. Obviously Sherlock isn't just a brain, with no need for food, sleep, or sex."

I'd said the last word just to hear the Christian college students gasp. I wasn't disappointed. The tension in the room had gone up, although the students would have no idea what I was possibly alluding to.

Frank had his arms crossed. He looked for all the world like he'd just sucked on a lemon, but I recognized the expression from our childhood. He was desperately trying not to laugh. Not quite the reaction I'd been going for. "Well then. My original metaphor was that we should all attempt to use our talents for good, and be willing to get our hands dirty in field work by applying our book knowledge when we are able." Frank glanced at the clock. "Well. I can sense a potential criminal justice major when I can see one. I'll let you all go fifteen minutes early."

Frank's students packed up immediately, with only a couple of curious peeks in my direction on the way out the door. I saw an attractive student hesitate, assessing Frank. Probably a teacher's pet, needing to get the last word in after class. "Goodbye, Heather," Frank said, politely but firmly, confirming my suspicions. After the last student had filed out and turned the corner, Professor Frank Campbell walked to the back of the room to shut and lock the door. Then he turned to face me.

I felt tears prick my eyes, and blinked them down in anger. I opened my mouth to speak, and Frank held up a hand to stop me. He approached my desk and pulled gently on my upper arm, coaxing me into standing. Then he wrapped his arms around me.

I exhaled forcefully and returned his embrace, hearing him wince at the pressure of my hug. He held onto me for a long, long moment, and I felt my emotions bubble up and spill over. "Damn it, Frank," I growled.

Frank pulled back, holding me by the shoulders, and looked me up and down admiringly. He pushed my hood off my head. "You look like a punk."

"Well, you sure _acted_ like a punk, Frank!" I snapped. "Let's hear your list of pathetic excuses. I can't believe you never contacted me…in three and a half years…" I trailed off, and very belatedly began to assess the room. At least the blinds were closed.

Frank laughed, dropping his hands to his sides. "No one's listening to us, Joe. This is Houghton, New York. A hundred miles from the middle of nowhere. This place has such a bubble that half the people here wouldn't recognize you if you were Justin Timberlake."

I felt my anger draining, but gave his chest a push in a final moment of defiance. "I can't believe it. You just…here you are. Totally off the radar. My brother, the professor. You definitely have the personality for it, but I don't know. Frank, I just can't believe that here you are, with a whole new life. Just completely without me or Nancy or Aaron. Or Mom and Dad. And you look….I never expected you to look…"

"Happy?" Frank asked quietly. "What were you expecting to find, Joe?"

He was right. I was shocked that he looked relatively happy. "I'm waiting to hear a really good reason for why you haven't contacted me."

"How about the possibility of your being followed? Being caught, tortured for information? Leading people back to Nancy?" Frank grinned.

I stared at him in shock. "Our entire careers have had quite an element of risk, Frank."

Frank sat in a desk and gestured for me to do the same. "Well, for one thing, I wasn't looking forward to exactly the kind of deductions that you just made in class."

I felt heat gather on my cheeks in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I had no idea what I just said. I was just angry."

He analyzed my features, nonjudgmentally as always. "It's okay, Joe," he said as if I'd never spoken. "Some days it feels like the strongest thing a man could ever do, staying out here to keep my family safe, and some days I feel pathetic. I had already signed up for this program, I was already living here in a retired professor's basement, new identification, new everything, when my agent called to tell me that my wife would rather tell our son that I was dead than ever see me again."

I leaned forward abruptly. "Wakefield is evil, Frank," I said emphatically. "You've got to get out of here. He shouldn't know where you are. He's as corrupt as they come and you have proven yourself worthless to law enforcement. I bought him out to find you here, and it sure wasn't too hard to do."

Frank sighed. "I'm aware of his reputation. But I'm not starting over a third time. I will either live here or reunite with Nancy."

"The only reason Nancy didn't come was because of Wakefield. It would be putting Aaron in danger," I insisted.

"I don't think that's the only reason Nancy left me," Frank said.

I stared at him. I shifted my weight awkwardly. Would he really make me ask?

He covered my mouth with his hand. "Don't do this, Joe," Frank said, shaking his head. "Don't turn this into an interrogation. I did not see anything that night, only an outline of a man, as I reported to the police." He dropped his hand to my shoulder. "I missed you so much, and I want to hear all about how you're doing. But forgive me for needing an update on Aaron and Nancy right now."

"Nancy thought that it wasn't safe for Aaron if the two of them came with you," I reinforced. "Therefore she got some reconstructive surgery and accepted relocation to Atlantic City."

"How bad were her injuries?" There was a look forming in Frank's eyes that I didn't like. He had more emotional pain than he was willing to admit to. I needed to answer his question quickly and change the subject.

"She got her nose fixed, so it has a different shape. Her ribs healed fine and she got the dental work she needed. She's fine now, a blonde with straight hair."

"A blonde?"

I pulled out my phone and handed him an opened, carefully pre-selected file of pictures that both Nancy and I had approved of. I repressed a significant stab of guilt. Nancy had made me swear half a dozen times not to tell Frank about Reid.

Frank eagerly took the phone from me. His breath caught in his throat. "She looks so happy," he murmured. Shades of joy and longing passed over his face as he admired Nancy's new look. He liked it, I could tell. He looked every inch a man in love. He traced a finger longingly over Nancy's new hair. "Praise God."

"Got religion, Elder Brother?" I teased.

"Yes." He didn't qualify the statement. He flipped through images of Nancy. Once again, a change came over him. I recognized guilt, underlying grief. Wakefield's comments returned to me unbidden: _Contact with you could trigger him. He'll begin to question his decisions all over again. Is your peace of mind more important than his?_

"What does Nancy do for a living?"

"Atlantic City detective, working with the police."

"No more freelance, wow. And who's her partner?"

How did he always manage to see right through me? There was no reason to be ashamed, yet I was. "I am," I said.

"So you moved with her, helped raise Aaron…" Frank's eyes were unfocused, staring vaguely at a spot over my left shoulder. My phone lay in his hands, momentarily forgotten.

"I didn't move in with her, Frank. I live in the same apartment complex." I avoided his eyes.

"No. You did well." Frank touched my arm. "Joe. Thank you for looking after my family."

I nodded slowly in acknowledgement. And relief.

Frank looked at me for a long moment. "Tell Nancy that I'm sorry. Every day I think about what happened, what else I should have done. And tell her that I love her. That's the only message I will ever ask you to pass along, and I'm not expecting a response. This is not what I wanted for you, Joe…now you're going to turn into a babysitter for your big brother, unable to move on and live your own life."

"Inever wanted to move on," I replied. "And of course I'll tell her that, Frank."

Frank swiped to the next photo. His religion didn't stop him from swearing loudly, almost dropping my phone. "Is this my son or your high school yearbook picture?"

I laughed, glad that the mood had lightened. "That is your son. Forever a pain in my ass."

Frank gazed at the screen. His thumb rubbed the side of my phone affectionately. "He looks good. Like a normal kid. Almost a man."

"Aaron was ripped apart when Nancy told that story about your death. He still is. But he's doing well in school, still the ladies' man. I've been giving him lessons." I winked at Frank. "He adjusted well, but has some anger problems. Definitely acts like a teenager."

"It was not an easy decision to let him go with Nancy," Frank said in a low voice. "By the time I found out about her choice, Aaron had already been told that I was dead. So, not only would I have had to secretly reveal to Aaron that I was still alive, but we would have had to work out some kind of visitation arrangement for him to go back and forth from one dangerous situation to another. And then Nancy's cover story might be blown. And Aaron would have the burden of keeping my secret. I'm going to contact him, you know. When he's eighteen. I know I should wait until he's finished high school, but that adds another eight months…but maybe if it's safe, if we get approval…who's their agent?"

I cringed inwardly. "She allowed Witness Protection to give her a fresh start, and then dropped out of the program."

" _What_?" Frank stood up sharply, his desk scraping against the floor. "It's too dangerous for her to come with me, but not too dangerous to drop out of WITSEC? To have _Aaron_ drop out of WITSEC?"

"She didn't want to be constantly hiding," I lamely explained. I didn't like the escalating despair in my brother's voice.

There was a knock on the door. The next class was waiting to get in.

"Two more minutes," Frank called. He raked a hand through his hair, then pulled out a piece of scrap paper. He was drawing a map.

"Too dangerous to give me a street address?" I asked.

"Too much work for you to even look it up." Frank pointed to the right side of the classroom. "Hang out somewhere inconspicuous for forty-five minutes. Leave this building on this side, follow the road straight, and when you get to the fork, turn right. That road will take you to the top of the hill. Number 541 will be open for you. I want you to meet my mentors. The couple who took me with no questions asked when I first got here. I've never quite summoned the motivation to move out on my own."

It wasn't how I'd expected to spend our reunion, but I nodded. I pulled up my hood to exit the classroom, at an inconspicuous distance behind Frank.


	10. Chapter 10

Laura

March 30, 2016

I had a splitting headache. Nothing was helping. They'd become more and more frequent, and the medicine and neck stretches were only temporary treatments. Carefully inching out of bed, I stood up carefully and looked over to see if I'd woken Fenton. He wasn't even in the room.

Tying my robe around my waist, I headed down the stairs and padded quietly into the kitchen. I saw Fenton's office light on, his door closed. Opening the cabinet to the mammoth collection of decaf tea, I put a packet in a mug and turned the hot water faucet on the sink.

Then I doubled over the sink, clutching my stomach. Nothing was physically wrong. I knew that much by now. Just the usual emotional heartbreak, manifesting itself in psychosomatic symptoms.

It made sense, really. The daytime hours were spent playing by the rules, thinking of everyone but myself, but these middle of the night headaches brought such pain that they forced the worst part of me to the surface.

I hated Nancy Drew.

Guilty afterthoughts descended, and I abandoned my tea, sitting at the kitchen table and rubbing my temples. I couldn't hate her. How could I hate anyone that had been as cruelly treated as she had been?

It was much more accurate to say that I wished that she had never come into our lives.

Frank wouldn't have had to grow up so quickly. And then she'd toyed with him for years, citing some kind of commitment phobia. Some excuse about how their careers should come before their own child. An exact affront to the values I'd built my life around. When she had finally condescended to marry him, they had moved to River Heights, so I ended up seeing Frank and Aaron even less. I hadn't been able to visit Aaron very much before that time, either, since we were all apparently supposed to tiptoe around Carson Drew's dislike for Frank.

It would soon be five years since I had seen my older son. Why? I had no idea. Yet I was told to accept it and play along. And I was. All through the years of not knowing whether he was alive or dead, and then Joe reported that Frank was doing pretty well. Just hadn't given us any kind of reassurance since the worst night of all of our lives.

Sometimes I felt like the outsider in my own family. Three detectives and one mom. I understood more of their clinical talk than they thought I did, but I still felt that barrier acutely. But I knew this much. There was a very limited list of people that Frank would be willing to sacrifice Nancy's safety in order to protect.

Fenton had scoffed at my increasingly bizarre hypotheses on who Barzini's killer had been. Maybe it had been an old teacher of Frank's, or one of the cousins. Callie, Vanessa, and Ned, in a trifecta revenge of the exes. Carson Drew had worked on mafia cases for years. How could he possibly not be involved? Maybe it had been Nancy herself. Maybe Hannah's cane was really a rifle in disguise. Maybe I'd done it myself while sleepwalking.

And then the guesses became even more personal. Fenton's eyes darkened whenever he caught me glancing at him cautiously. "I won't argue my innocence again with my own wife," he'd said icily.

But Fenton had arrived at the hospital within an hour that night, stating that he had been preparing for a court date with a colleague in the area. I was used to never knowing where he was, and I'd never denied him his freedom. Nevertheless, it was a little too convenient.

Joe had just happened to be arriving in River Heights for Nancy's surprise party right when Frank needed him? Frank knew that Joe would be right there once he activated the tracker? Nancy Drew declines to go into hiding with Frank and steals my other son to move nine hours away to the Jersey Shore of all places. And, unbelievably, Joe reports that Frank is just fine with the fact that his brother has practically replaced him, living in the apartment next door to his wife. Aaron looked so much like Joe. Yes, there was another reason why Frank might have decided that he was okay with leaving Nancy and Aaron and going to live in the northern wilderness. The devil only knew what really might have happened at that ski lodge all those years ago.

There was a knock on the door. My fingers clenched the side of the table.

Fenton emerged from his office and saw me. "Joe called me and said he was coming," Fenton said over his shoulder as he opened the door. Joe entered and shut the door, warming his hands. He sat on the coach, not waiting to take off his coat. "Hi, Dad. Oh…hi, Mom."

I walked over and sat in the recliner, silently challenging either of them to tell me to leave. They didn't.

Joe turned to Fenton. "I got a call from Wakefield a couple of hours ago. He said…" He glanced at me, trying to hide his discomfort at my presence. "He said that there was another mafia bust in the Midwest. It's under wraps, he wouldn't give me any details. But the last handful of Barzini's cronies are locked up for several years. And when they _do_ get out, they'll have bigger fish to fry than trying to track down a killer of an associate from years ago."

My heart skipped a beat. "So it's safe for Frank to come home?"

"Everything is about level of risk, Mom. The mob is so massive and diverse and underground that there will be some level of risk for the rest of Frank's life, no matter what information we're given," Joe said. "But, yes, the risk is much lower than it's ever been."

"What does Wakefield want?" Fenton asked bluntly.

"For an identical bank deposit as last time, he's willing to send us all the information he has on the man who has the only remaining known contract out for Frank. The father of Nancy's rapist, who still somehow blames Frank for all that happened. He says if his son won't see his family again for thirty years, then Frank's family should be torn apart too."

"Hmm," Fenton said.

Joe leaned toward his father. "Do you think Wakefield is telling the truth? There's now only one contract out for Frank?"

"Yes, I do think he's telling the truth. Wakefield's style is to keep people dependant on him, handing out information incrementally, however it is in his best interest. He's still alive because he gives accurate information."

Joe's expression relaxed, reflecting more than a glimmer of hope. "Dad, this father is in his late 70s, overweight, alcoholic…if he has the only contract still out for Frank, then all we have to do is wait…"

There was a gleam in Fenton's eyes. "Yes. All we have to do is wait. This is excellent news." He put his hand on Joe's knee. "Stay here tonight, Joe. It's late. We'll talk more in the morning." Fenton used Joe's knee to help himself stand up. He headed toward his office, the usual signal that a conversation was over.

Joe stared strangely at his father's retreating figure. Until that moment, he may not have comprehended what his father was truly capable of, but I'd always known the man I married. His ethical system, at least. "Okay."

"Do you need anything, Joseph?" I asked. "Tea?"

He shook his head slowly. He stood up and headed to the bathroom.

I headed to my husband's office.

Fenton did not keep me informed about most of his cases, which was fine by me now that he did not work with Frank or Joe. But he usually did not deny me information when I asked.

I shut the door behind me. "What are you going to do, Fenton?"

"I have an old friend on the NYPD who's been getting milked by Wakefield for years. I'm going to get Wakefield's phone and bank account numbers from him, call Wakefield, and make that deposit. Then think of a story to tell Joe in the morning in the hopes that he won't stick his nose into any of this." Fenton turned on his computer.

I walked over and sat on his computer desk, forcing him to give me his full attention. "And _then_ what are you going to do, Fenton?"

My robe had fallen open as I sat, and his eyes roamed over my body. "Hand that old man's information over to Carson Drew."

My eyes widened.

Fenton grinned. "He and I have had an agreement for many years now. Nancy, and Frank through Joe's reports, have always insisted that those mob members never mentioned the name of Carson Drew that night. Carson was never convinced. Carson knew those guys, tried to get them locked up more than once. He made me promise that if there was ever any way for him to settle the score, I would let him know immediately."

"I'm surprised he would want to work toward reconciling Frank and Nancy," I said bitterly. Carson regularly reminded us of his opinion of Frank.

"He's admitted to me once, and only once, that Nancy will never fully be happy without Frank. We're lucky that Wakefield is giving us this option, and we have to jump on it now. That old man could easily outbid us for information about Frank." Fenton put a hand on my thigh, slowly inching up. "Give me a half hour in here, Laura, and wait up for me. The bedroom is on the other side of the house from Joe's room. Our son might be able to come home soon."

I brushed his hand away. I gave him a noncommittal kiss on the forehead and left him.

But on the way upstairs, I decided that yes, I would wait up for him. His demeanor in the past few minutes had finally convinced me that Frank's absence had been just as hard for him as it had been for me.

And I would do nothing to interfere with the success of this plan.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I should have posted this chapter right after Frank and Nancy's (brief) happy marriage scenes.

Frank

October 26, 2010

Aaron tapped my right shoulder, and I froze in place and touched Joe's shoulder as well. We heard a brief crunch of footsteps, and then Aaron put a hand on my left arm.

Joe and I followed Aaron as we ran softly out of the pitch-black obstacle course. The climbing wall and jungle gym had been helpful hiding spots, but now we were forced to make ourselves completely vulnerable by crossing over a wide open space.

Joe, Aaron, and I participated in these nighttime strategic games twice a year at a local Christian camp. The object of tonight's competition was to smuggle Bibles to persecuted Christians and make it back to headquarters before 9:30. Each family had to drop off a different colored dog tag (symbolizing a Bible) at six locations without being caught by the KGB. The camp staff, as the KGB "bad guys," could send an individual to prison for being seen or making too much noise. Each drop-off location was heavily guarded.

When Aaron was very young, Nancy and I had discussed at length how much we wanted to expose him to detective work. We had both agreed that he could make his own choices and that neither of us found it important to persuade him to follow in our footsteps. I personally hoped that he wouldn't, since I did not find the thought of my son in constant danger to be particularly comforting. Nancy and I had signed Aaron up for Boy Scouts as soon as he was old enough, and events such as these game nights allowed Joe and I to teach Aaron some skills in a roundabout way.

Aaron gripped my wrist, which was the signal for us to huddle. I did the same to Joe and we formed a circle, leaning towards Aaron. During dinner, the three of us had memorized the rules of the game and created a non-verbal series of communication signals. Aaron was always the leader. "Look at that flashlight beam," he said in a low voice. "See how regular it is. It's moving in circles, slow, steady, and consistent. I think that's a drop-off location."

I couldn't resist sneaking a sly look at Joe, enjoying Joe's expression of surprised admiration. I had only noticed the flashlight's consistent movements a moment ago, and my 11-year-old had picked up on it nearly as soon as I had. "What's the plan?" I asked.

"Let's get closer. From…let's approach from the right. And see where the sentry is. Then reconvene." Aaron assessed his surroundings, and then stayed on the edge of the sandy path. It was just too noisy to risk cutting through the woods.

Joe raised his eyebrows at me, smirking at how seriously my son was taking this, and I punched him in the shoulder and followed Aaron. I heard Joe behind me, and the next few minutes were spent in silent stealth, making as little sound as possible while checking for shadows and flashlights. The KGB weren't required to keep their flashlights on. They could turn them on and suddenly send us to prison.

Aaron sucked a breath in sharply, ducking behind a hedge as the flashlight beam rotated toward us. Joe and I had also crouched down in time, so we leaned toward Aaron for our orders. "The sentry is guarding that cabin by the lake," he whispered, peering around the foliage when it was safe. "Fifteen feet from here, slowly rotating in place. The drop-off jar must be inside the cabin. The cabin in door is open. We have to run past this guard before the flashlight beam rotates full circle back to us. One at a time."

I grinned at him. "Yes, sir." This was a good game, and Aaron was good at it. The sentry would of course be able to hear us run past, but we would be safe in this case as long as the flashlight beam didn't catch us and we weren't too loud.

Aaron squinted in the moonlight. "Uncle Joe, you'll go first and show us how it's done. Whenever you're ready."

"Any time," Joe said smoothly.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Aaron knew how to keep his hotheaded uncle in check. It was difficult for Joe to play a subordinate role, and a little flattery would go a long way.

Joe jogged easily behind the flashlight beam as soon as it passed our location, then was forced into a sprint to make the last few feet into the cabin. He entered and ducked behind the wall. The flashlight found nothing as its steady beam again passed the open cabin door.

Aaron gave me a signal of authorization. I saluted and continued to analyze the beam as it rotated two more times. _Shut up, Joe,_ I thought in response to Joe's telepathic mocking. _You're a pantser, I'm a planner._ I walked quickly as the beam of light passed the hedges, then jogged to stay directly behind it, and then sprinted as the beam passed the halfway mark. My foot caught on the edge of the opening to the cabin and I tripped. I felt Joe's hands grip fistfuls of my jacket just below the shoulders, stabilizing me and pulling me to the side at the same time. I was just barely out of the range of the flashlight's rays as it passed by. My momentum slowing down, I squatted to lower my center of gravity, bracing my hands on my thighs.

"Always the ballerina," Joe whispered into my left ear, and I knew I deserved that one.

We couldn't lean out to check on Aaron, so all we could do was wait and hope that he made it in okay. Joe gestured toward a bowl in the center of the cabin. We were to drop our blue tag at this location, and I pulled it out of my inside coat pocket, specially labeled with our team name.

Aaron jogged lightly into the cabin, veering to the left like he'd been rounding first base. He was certainly not done with his growth spurt, and I could tell that he would soon go through the same awkward phase that Joe had, all arms and legs and no coordination. And he was all but guaranteed to end up taller than me.

I put a brief arm around Aaron's shoulders in congratulation, then handed him the blue dog tag. He dropped it into the bowl for Team Hardy. I pressed the button on my watch to illuminate the time. 9:09. I showed my watch to the others. Twenty-one minutes to find the last drop point and get back to base.

"I know this camp well," Aaron said in a low voice. Of course he would, since he'd been coming here one week of every summer since he was six. "There's only one corner of this campus that we haven't checked. If they laid the drop points proportionally, it's got to be out near Hesed Field."

I nodded in acknowledgment, gesturing toward the door. Aaron paused as we all took note that the flashlight beam had disappeared. The KGB was giving us a free pass to exit the cabin.

We exited and continued to follow Aaron in single file, forced to travel in more open areas due to time constraints. We passed the dining hall, avoiding the streetlamp and using a shortcut behind the camper's bungalows. I had to pick up the pace to keep up with my son, and we edged the perimeter of the baseball diamond. Again I noticed the rhythmic flashlight beams just as Aaron did.

"Back behind the dugout," he said excitedly. "There's a sentry walking back and forth. We'll have to wait until the sentry walks by, and then sprint into the dugout and drop our tag in."

"Something seems too easy about this," I mused. "I wonder where they hid the drop bowl."

Just then a flashlight beam illuminated the left side of our faces, blinding us and causing Aaron to groan in frustration and disappointment. I registered my brother quickly stepping behind the baseball shed. "KGB," the owner of the flashlight said flatly. "I'm taking you two yappers to prison. When we get there, you can either wait five minutes and join the game, or someone currently active in the game can touch the prison wall to break you out."

"Let's hurry up then," Aaron said, bouncing like he had to go to the bathroom. I let Aaron and our captor take a few steps, then waved my arm at Joe and dropped the remaining dog tag on the ground where I stood. The KGB agent jogged us the quarter mile back to the tabernacle, which was prison. Checking my watch, I noted that it was 9:21. "Good game, Aaron," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "It was fun." I headed over to the coffeemaker, taking a Styrofoam cup.

"What?" Aaron said in disbelief, and I turned to him.

"It's…now it's 9:22, Aaron. We'll get back in the game at 9:26, which might be barely time enough to get back to where we were, much less get back here again. We have to hope that Uncle Joe pulls in the win for Team Hardy."

"What?" Aaron repeated, genuinely confused. "Uncle Joe must have followed us here. Put your cup down. He'll be jailbreaking us at any second. We shouldn't even be inside."

"Believe me, I know your uncle quite well. He is dropping off the remaining dog tag and then sprinting with everyone else back here to headquarters. Which is exactly what I would do myself, and you should have if you hadn't been caught." I saw that Aaron was becoming more upset by this explanation, not less, so I threw my cup in the trash and put more of an effort into understanding his point of view.

"But he doesn't even have the dog tag to drop off."

"Yes, he does. I dropped it on the ground when that KGB wasn't looking."

Joe burst into the front door, sidestepping a kid that had been standing in his path, and ran to the check in table. He gave his name, panting and sweating, and put his hands up in victory. "They're collecting the bowls soon, and then they'll confirm that we make all the drop points. People get to read their Bibles because of another victory of the Hardy boys—" he pointed to me and Aaron—"and the Hardy man."

I grinned and gave him a fist bump just to embarrass Aaron. "What was the final puzzle?"

"The bowl was under the bench in the dugout, so far under that I had to literally hide under the bench, wait for the sentry to walk by again, and then roll out and sprint back here." Joe headed to the snack table and swigged a pre-poured plastic cup of water.

"Oooh, and what's the prize?" Aaron asked sarcastically, following.

Joe glanced at me. "What is it, a percentage off their spring event?"

"A quarter or a third off," I answered. I suspected that this wasn't an innocent question.

"So your abandoning me and Dad was because we need a few bucks off?" Aaron asked. "Are we that poor? Are we stopping at the food bank on the way home?"

"You payin' next time, son?" Joe asked testily, refilling his water.

Aaron grabbed my wrist, checking the time. "9:25. And we're standing here talking. Maybe the three of us could have done it. If Uncle Joe followed us here to prison, he could have released us at 9:21 and we could have headed back."

"We would have never been fast enough, Aaron," I said as Joe said "Not happening."

"But the whole point of doing this is for the three of us to do it together," Aaron insisted. "I would never have left the two of you behind."

"The goal of this game is to drop off the tags and get back to base, and we as a team were able to do that since one of the members of this team pulled out the win even when the other two compromised our position," Joe said crisply, standing closer to Aaron.

"I thought I was the leader," Aaron returned.

"So that's the problem? I didn't wait for my leader's orders before trying to complete our mission?" I could tell that Joe was losing his patience. Joe and Aaron's good times were very good, but their bad times were very bad, and I did not enjoy my occasional role as peacemaker.

"That's not the problem, Joe," I said, quietly but firmly. I turned to Aaron. "This is the way that Joe and I were trained to act when we were on a case. We've had plenty of cases where one of us had to leave the other in order to get the case solved and stop the perpetrator. Don't read any more into this, Aaron."

Aaron's anger had reduced to a simmering level as I spoke, but he still had the high-pitched, frantic quality of a kid who didn't feel understood. "But you're _family_!" he protested. "Family comes first! Isn't family supposed to be the most important thing? It would have been better to lose as a team than sacrifice two of our members! And now we'll never know if we could have won, even with the odds so completely stacked against us."

"Mafia mentality," Joe grumbled.

But I understand what Aaron was trying to say. And I was glad to see the kind of young man that my son was becoming.

"These are hard questions," I said slowly. "So family sticking together is the highest possible value? Every instance, no matter what? What if by our family staying together, another family gets broken apart? Or what about when values conflict, when you might be trying to help a family member but end up hurting them instead. Not to mention that if Joe and I had stuck together and put safety and each other first in every case, there would be a lot more culprits walking free, never mind Joe and I would have no career."

Aaron glowered at me, now in the sulking phase of our arguments. I always felt relief at seeing this reaction, since it meant that he was grudgingly acknowledging my point of view. "Then maybe you should have chosen a different career."

"Not a chance," Joe said absently, pointing to the stage. They were calling the room's attention to the stage, preparing their twenty-minute sermon. I always insisted that we stay for this portion out of respect, since this camp hosted these very low-cost events in order to speak about God to the community.

I sat down but zoned out. I didn't think Aaron's reaction was simply that of a sore loser, someone robbed of the last few minutes of an exciting game. His naivety was endearing, and I hoped that it would be a long time before his black-and-white ethics would be forced into shades of gray.


	12. Chapter 12

Frank

November 18, 2016

The hairs on the back of my neck had been perpetually raised all day. I knew two people were stalking me.

My number of classes had grown to three over the years. It might never go up to four, as the college saved a significant chunk of change by keeping me part-time. And so, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I taught a 1:00, 2:00, and 3:00 class, and then had one office hour before walking home at 5:00.

It was currently 4:55 on a Friday. Thanksgiving Break was just around the corner, after a couple of days of classes next week. One of my stalkers had just walked into my office and crossed her legs, asking for feedback on her rough draft essay regarding Criminology as a Social Science. I knew she'd chosen the time deliberately.

The chair Heather was sitting in was directly in front of the window. It was snowing outside, as always. The last rays of sunlight combined with the soft glow of my desk lamp to perfectly complement the sparkle in her eyes and the gloss of her perfectly straight, black hair.

I turned on the bright overhead lights. She covered her eyes, startled.

"Sorry," I said with a tight smile. "I needed more light to be able to read your paper."

I skimmed it. It was excellent.

I looked up at Heather. Her eyebrows were slightly raised as she hoped (or expected) praise. This was a very smart girl who was used to getting what she wanted.

"This is terrific," I said honestly. "You're not on my list of declared majors. Have you considered a career in law?"

She flushed with pleasure. "I'm thinking about it."

"No pressure. I'm sure you could excel at any number of careers." I put her paper in my briefcase. "I'll provide more detailed comments about the strengths of this essay, and then hand it back to you. You've earned an A. No corrections are needed."

Heather hesitated just a fraction of a second, betraying the fact that she'd wanted an A plus. "Thanks, Professor Campbell. Your opinion means a lot."

"You do excellent work," I said, turning my chair back to face my desk.

She stood up and took a step forward. "A bunch of us are going to the dining hall now. Professors eat with students all the time. I could use one of my meal tickets on you."

I turned sharply back to look up at her, and my facial expression must have been harsher than I'd intended. She stepped back, uncertain and embarrassed.

I softened. "Thank you for the invite. But no, thank you, Heather. I don't eat in the dining hall. I'll see you in class on Monday." I didn't need to open my office door for her; I always kept it open when I was alone with one female.

"Thank you," Heather mumbled, and left. I glanced at the clock: 5:09. I was only thirty-seven, but my habits had become as rigid as a much older man's.

I gathered the other documents I needed into my briefcase and shut and locked my office door. Nodding in respect to the other professors locking up, as well as the few who kept office hours until 10:00 at night, I put on my heavy coat and hat and exited the building. Soon I had turned right and was risking my life walking up the very steep, icy hill. I'd never bought a car; I couldn't afford it, for one thing, and there was also little need in this small community. Marie and I took her husband's car to the store ten minutes away when we needed groceries.

Reaching the apex, I could see my home in sight. It certainly wasn't where any other active professor lived. This was the retirement community, and I still lived with the older couple who had taken me in during the worst time of my life.

Dread and excitement mingled inside me, settling in my gut. I ignored my feelings and pulled out my house key from my coat pocket. The porch light was directly in front of me. Fifty feet…forty feet…

And then the silhouette appeared, just on the edge of the porch light. My adrenaline surged, along with the accompanying increased heart rate. Nevertheless I opened the door, turned on the light, dropped my briefcase and made sure the door was firmly closed behind us before I pulled my brother in for a tight hug. "Joe," I breathed in relief, blinking back my emotion before he could see it and provide commentary.

I heard his laughter. "Hi, honey, I'm home."

"And about to get scolded, too." I pulled away and punched his shoulder. His laughing eyes and sardonic expression lifted my spirits even more. "Don't I always tell you only to come at full dark? And not loiter around the porch so that the entire universe can see our reunion?"

"I'm getting brazen in my old age, Elder Brother." Joe shrugged out of his coat. "Looks like I picked the perfect day for my bi-annual visit, too. You're a better man than I am, dismissing that young scholar so abruptly."

"What, did you teleport up here? I made a promise to the president of this college that there would never be a whiff of a rumor about me. I'm as used to the aching hell of celibacy as any healthy man can be." I shrugged and held out my hand, palm up. "She's a Christian kid anyway. She probably just wanted an emotional affair, a notch on her belt."

Joe looked at me pointedly. I knew he was stuck on my second sentence: He'd never quite trusted President Taylor since he'd found out the man had a distant friendship with my WITSEC agent. He punished me by making me wait another few seconds before handing me his phone.

Excited, I sat down, still clad in hat and coat, and surfed through the last six months of pictures. My wife in her detective uniform. My wife on a canoe trip, laughing as she splashed an unsuspecting kid. Her hair straightener had been no match for the humidity that day. I smiled fondly, tracing my finger along her frizzy curls in an automatic effort to smooth them. I flipped to the next picture. My son, looking decidedly unhappy as he was forced to submit to a first-day-of-school picture in his senior year.

I whistled. "Is that kid ever going to stop growing? He passed me a long time ago, and he's almost caught up with you. And what's with that haircut? Nancy didn't allow him to go to the barber shop with you unsupervised, did she?"

"Har, har," Joe said. He stood up and thrust his hands in his pockets, slowly circling the room while I savored my time with the rest of the pictures. "Still happy here, bro?"

"Yes, by and large," I answered distractedly. "The people are good here. The simple life has its advantages. Where are Paul and Marie, by the way?"

"I came here a few hours ago, and they forced me to eat a sandwich and take a nap after that drive. Conveniently, they said that they were going out to eat and then to Wednesday night choir practice." Joe grinned.

"Those two. Always thinking of everyone else."

"They accepted money so I could pay for their night out."

"Oh…" I felt a wave of guilt as I found a picture of my mother. "Before I forget." I walked down to the basement to my room and took a package from under my bed. I returned to Joe and handed it to him. "For Mom and Dad. One letter for every week." They burned the letters after they read them.

"It'll get there."

"Please tell Mom…" I sighed and gave him a pleading look. "Please tell her again that this is a temporary situation? This will all work out sometime soon. I'll see her again and we'll make up for lost time."

"Maybe sooner than you think," Joe said, wholly unexpected.

I gawked at him. "What? What happened?"

Joe gazed at our surroundings, suddenly uncertain.

I placed Joe's cell phone on the coffee table. "What happened, tell me right now, Joe."

He took a deep breath. "Nancy told Aaron that you're still alive."

The room spun suddenly, symbolic of my carefully formed world upended with that simple statement. " _What?_ Why? Why now?"

"Aaron and Nancy got in a fight, started arguing about everything being kept secret from him all the time. Nancy decided that she didn't want Aaron to think that he lives in a family of secrets any more."

The story obviously had a lot more details to it than that, but for now I was focused on the implications of this statement. This was the moment I'd been waiting for, and I knew it was coming up soon, but now that it had abruptly arrived I felt downright scared.

"How did he react?" I began to pace. "He must be disgusted with me. To go from a father who died heroically to a father who's been hiding out all these years."

"Actually, trust me, it's me and Nancy that he's furious with." Joe ran a hand through his already-spiked blond hair.

"Did she tell him _everything_?" I hissed.

"No," he said quickly. "No, nothing like that. Just that you have valuable information that people want, and you have to wait to come back until the situation blows over. Information that we can't tell him or else he becomes another pawn in this game. He wants to see you, Frank."

I shook my head. "It won't be safe. Let's at least let him have his last normal year of high school. Nancy can't approve of this. I want to see him so badly…but, wow, to go from having a twelve-year-old to having an eighteen-year-old…"

"Stop, Frank," Joe said, his hands up. "Do you hear yourself? Ask yourself what your opinion would be if you were sure that you still had your son's respect."

That statement changed my thinking immediately. "I'd be concerned for his safety, but very, very happy to be back in his life," I said, calming down. I sat down, shaking slightly.

"Exactly. And let me tell you, yes, you do still have your son's respect." Joe still stood, looking down at me and waiting.

"I know your interrogation techniques," I said, rubbing my forehand tiredly with one hand. "There's something else. Get it all out, Joe."

Joe walked to the coffee table, picking up his phone hesitatingly like it were an explosive. "I have two more items of news. Both good news." He didn't sound entirely convincing. Joe opened a different photo album. He showed me a close-up photo of a redheaded child, grinning at something humorous that must have been happening to the photographer's left.

I needed air. "What's the punchline, Joe?"

He lowered the phone. "That child is Nancy's son. Born eight and a half months after you left."

I had no recollection of leaving the house. I found myself sprinting across the plains in my business suit, bounding over the moors. I knew all the soft spots, all the rocks. I'd spent months here when I'd first arrived, earning myself the nickname the "Hound of the Baskervilles," and my demons had plagued me in the wilderness as I'd escaped here with my thoughts. My shoes were ruined, my pants splattered with muddy snow. The wilderness behind Houghton retirement housing had held me in a fragile stasis during a personal hell, an existence which had a rock bottom of even lower depths than I had imagined.

I'd _suspected_ that my wife hated me when she had run the opposite direction and told our son that I was dead. I'd _known_ that she hated me when my brother reported that she had dropped out of WITSEC long ago, proving that the issue wasn't even about maximum safety for her and Aaron. For the _kids_. But this was about more than her romantic feelings toward me. If I'd known about this child, that might have been all the more reason to accept Nancy's choice, increased incentive to stay away for my family's protection. And Nancy would have known that. There must have been another reason why she would keep this from me.

The snowflakes added a chill to my wet cheeks. "It meant that much to her," I whimpered to the frigid darkness. To a God who would have to help me up once again. "It meant that much to her to never have to see me again. Not to even let me know about this kid, not to let me…decide…she thought that after all that happened, I didn't have the right to know."

"Frank!" I heard a cry, mingled with pain.

I stopped, turning around in alarm. "Joe! Oh, no," I said, making my way back. "There's no way you could have found your footing through here."

Joe sat on the ground at the edge of the moor, grimacing, holding his ankle. I knelt beside him and carefully took his foot into my hands. He supported the weight of the leg while I gently tested the range of motion.

"Seems like just a minor sprain." Joe sighed, flopping onto his back in the snow. "You've respected all of Nancy's decisions up to this point, so I made a tough call that you would want me to respect her choice about this, too. Believe me, I've never felt good about being caught between you and Nancy."

I shook my head. "I hope you can never relate to how I feel right now, Joe. And I'm not happy about you keeping this from me. But I never should have allowed you to put yourself in this situation in the first place. I want you to meet a girl, live for yourself once in a while, drop your visits down to once a year. Oh, no, is _this_ why you moved with Nancy? To help raise the baby?"

"Partially, and don't worry about me, I've told you that before." Joe tentatively put a hand on my shoulder, then firmed his grip when I didn't resist. I felt him shiver violently from the cold. "I know you're wondering, even though you're not going to ask," he said. "When Reid was born, Dad took him and a hair from your comb and got the DNA test done. The test results arrived in the mail, and Dad has kept the envelope safe and unopened ever since. Even Mom doesn't know about it. Nancy decided that the test results will be opened if Reid has a health concern, or possibly if Reid has questions as an adult and wants to know. But of course he has been raised as your son, and he knows it."

I covered my face with both hands for a long moment. Then I stood up, offering Joe a hand so he could tentatively stand up on one leg. I put an arm around him and helped him limp back to the house. Once inside, I guided him to the sofa and helped him shrug into a bathrobe. I took off my things and hung them up. I made Joe some tea, organized some pillows so Joe could elevate his foot, and then unbuttoned my shirt.

"What's going on, bro," Joe said suspiciously from the sofa. "You're too calm."

"I never should have accepted Nancy's asinine decision about Aaron's formative years." I reached in the corner cabinet for Paul's stash of brandy. I took a swig, then walked back to Joe and added a healthy dose to his tea. He didn't object. "Seeing our son at her Carson's house between cases like we had joint custody with them. I thought about suing her for custody a few times, but kept holding out hope that she would marry me."

"Which she did."

"And now I'm expected to lie down and accept _no_ contact for a son I didn't even know about? Making an even worse decision about the second kid than I did about the first kid?"

"And this is exactly why Nancy didn't want to tell you about Reid," Joe said vehemently. "Please sit down and keep talking to me. Don't jump straight to custody battles. Come on, sit down."

"I need a bath," I said. I sat down on a chair in the kitchen, trying to contain the mud as I carefully removed my shoes and socks. "A very long bath that might burn my skin. And by the time I come out of the bath, I will have accepted the fact that I have a toddler that my wife chose not to tell me about, it does not matter whose name is on the paternity test, and that God can help me through even this." I stood up and unbuttoned my pants. "You will be staying a few days, correct, Joe? I need you."

"Yes. I'm leaving Sunday afternoon. You have class on Monday."

"You will stay until Tuesday."

"Fine."

"You will stay until Tuesday, Joe."

" _Fine_. Yes, I promise that I will."

I entered the bathroom and shut the door.

Joe

November 18, 2016 (Cont'd)

I had The Big Bang Theory on in the background. I stared straight through it, comprehending nothing. I hated this show, and it seemed only appropriate to have it on right now. Frank had been in the bathroom for so extraordinarily long that I would have almost been afraid of self-harm if I hadn't heard the bathtub drain and refill with hot water so many times.

The doorbell rang. My brother was in good hands. The people he lived with, Paul and Marie Johnson, were ringing the doorbell to their own house to make sure they weren't interrupting any male bonding.

"Hello, Joe," Marie said pleasantly after I'd answered the door. "Some choir members wanted to get coffee and dessert after practice. Decaf, of course." She stifled a yawn and looked at the clock on the kitchen stove. 9:37.

"You didn't have to stay out for us," I said. I sat back down but didn't elevate my foot so I wouldn't have to answer any questions.

Something in my tone caused Paul to give me more attention than I wanted. "What happened?" he asked sharply. He handed his coat and hat to his wife to hang up, revealing a shock of sporadically-spaced white hair.

I knew that Frank held nothing back from his "mentors," as he called them, and objected heartily whenever I suggested that he should consider doing so. "You might want to sit down," I said.

Paul used his cane to hobble to the couch, his body deteriorating with age while his mind did not. After a few words of pleasantry and my repeated insistence that I didn't need anything, Marie headed to the bedroom.

"You can stay," I said to her, but she shook her head and closed the door.

Paul focused a steel, penetrating gaze on me. _Like a protective mother bear,_ I thought. _Anything for Frank._ "I had three items on the agenda to discuss with Frank," I explained. "I have only been able to discuss the first two. He has locked himself in the bathroom ever since."

Paul's forehead wrinkles deepened in a concerned scowl. "Which are?"

"His wife informed their son that Frank is alive. Aaron wants to visit him."

I caught a glimpse of a very unexpected emotion in Paul: fear. He was afraid of losing Frank. Paul nodded. "What's the second item of news?"

I put the TV on mute. Paul wasn't going to be happy with me. "Since Aaron can't possibly be expected to keep a secret of this magnitude from Frank, Nancy has finally given me approval...to tell Frank about her child who was born eight months and two weeks after Frank left."

"What?" Paul's face contorted in surprise and anger. "How could you keep this from your brother? A man has a right to know. And another right to make decisions based on all the facts."

"This was Nancy's choice, not mine," I retorted, prickling in self defense.

"No. The mother does not have more say than the father."

Our gazes locked in a passionate intensity. Guilt settled in my stomach, and I swallowed.

Paul retrieved in his cane, then shuffled to the bathroom and knocked on the door. "Come on, Frank, you're cooking in there," he said gruffly. "Come out here so we can talk to your brother together."

I could just barely hear his submissive response. "Okay." I heard the sound of water sloshing, and I felt a quick stab of jealousy. Frank considered Paul's words to be golden, and to be obeyed immediately and without question.

Frank emerged in his bathrobe just as Paul finished pouring the three of us shots of brandy. Frank sat on the couch next to me and all three of us downed them immediately. I saw the anxiety on Paul's face, and I echoed the sentiment. Frank had a demeanor of shock and horror that reminded us both of how he looked when this entire ordeal had begun.

Frank turned toward Paul. "Paul…my wife…"

"I heard the whole thing. Congratulations, Frank, and I'm sorry you're hearing about this so late. There are many possible interpretations for your wife's decisions, as we've discussed many times. Just as there are many possible interpretations for why you still haven't told anyone who killed that Italian man, of which I still harbor certain suspicions. In the meantime, put these feelings to the side for the moment-" Paul laid a firm hand on Frank's shoulder—"and listen. Joe has something else to tell us."

"I hadn't forgotten." Frank turned toward me, wary but with an undercurrent of hope. "I'm as ready as I'm going to be. What's your last item of good news, Joe?"

I leaned forward to grip his knee. "This news is fresh at least, from just a few days ago. The last man who had a price on your head? _He passed away,_ Frank. As far as we know, he was the only person still after you."

Frank eyes widened, unfocused, as the implications of this information sank in.

I noticed a sudden, jerky movement from Paul, and realized that the man was desperately trying to hide a profound misery. I spoke again. "But we have to take this one step at a time. We know that the mafia denounced what that man did to Nancy, and as far as we know, they consider the matter closed because of it. Your silence regarding who killed Esposito should be respected because Nancy already…in a sense, paid for it. Earned it."

"I understand," Frank said curtly.

"If our sources are correct, then you are safe to leave Houghton. If our sources are correct, Wakefield has no power over you because the price on your head is zero. If our sources are correct, your risk is at an all-time low if you leave the Witness Protection Program." I raised my eyebrows.

"Low but not zero, you're saying," Paul said. There was a tremor in his voice.

Frank put a hand on Paul's arm, but continued looking at me. With a more peaceful expression than I'd seen in years. "I'm happy here, Joe."

I stared at him in disbelief. "So…you're really going to stay?"

"I don't know," he said. "If Nancy chooses to reconcile with me, then we will make that decision together. In the meantime, my kids can come visit me here." His eyes brightened even more, and he smiled broadly. "And maybe in the future I can come to them…and sometime we'll work out the logistics for me to see Mom and Dad."

"I'm happy for you, Frank," Paul said with effort. "I hope this works out for you."

"Nancy was also presented with this same information," I continued.

Frank held his breath. My next words would define his future.

I smiled. "She agreed that the risk is small enough now that I can make arrangements for a weekend. One short weekend only, so you both are at work on Friday and Monday and Aaron is at school and no one has a whiff of anyone being absent. A couple of days for your whole family. Far, far away. Wakefield won't know anything about it and Mom and Dad insisted on footing the bill."

Frank sat stunned for another moment in disbelief. His grin slowly widened until it was downright goofy. "All four of us?"

"Five of us," I corrected. I stood up just in time to absorb Frank's bear hug. "I'll be chaperoning. Carson called in a favor to the local sheriff there, so I'm coordinating which plain clothes law enforcement I can have available. Even the law enforcement there doesn't know who anyone is, only that you need an escort, and they're not asking any questions."

Paul refilled our shot glasses. I swigged mine as Frank began pacing. The first time I had seen him pace in happiness in many years. I fervently hoped I wasn't leading his family into a trap.

"Where are we going?" Frank asked excitedly.

I arched an eyebrow. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

"Joseph," he growled, putting me in a headlock, and I laughed and automatically fought back.

"It's late, enough of this," Paul said, trying his best to share in our excitement. "This is truly excellent news. And we all need to process it in our own way. We have plenty of time tomorrow to talk about the details. Why don't you head downstairs to your room and pray about this, Frank."

"All right," Frank said distractedly. I suspected he wouldn't be able to concentrate long enough, but he certainly needed time by himself. I'd hit him with a lot of life-altering updates tonight. He hugged Paul, then me. "Walk me to the door, Joe."

I did. "That old man died of natural causes?" Frank asked in a low voice. He kept eye contact with me a moment longer than necessary.

I made the sign of the cross. "That is what the newspapers reported, and I had nothing to do with it. Nor did I send anyone to do any dirty deeds."

Frank continued staring at me. Then he gave me a squeeze on the shoulder and headed down the stairs.

He wasn't convinced, just hadn't wanted to pursue this line of questioning any further. Neither did I. I knew our father's hand was somewhere in the pot, but had no idea exactly what the nature of his involvement had been. Somehow our father knew that the autopsy had not turned up anything unusual, given the man's lifestyle choices, so there should be no return calling card back upon our family.

I came back into the living room and saw that Paul was trying to set me up on the couch. I stopped him and took my own sheets and blankets out of the closet.

"I've got it, thank you," I said. "As always, thanks so much for all you do for Frank."

"I can let him go. You know that, Joe," he said sadly. "I hope this works out for him. For all of you."

"I know that you do." Paul had refilled my brandy glass, so I swallowed it to be polite. I bent over to put the sheet on the couch, then abruptly sat down, overcome with vertigo. I suddenly realized that my ankle wasn't hurting any more. How much brandy had I had? Three shots, plus a couple cupfuls of extremely strong tea on an empty stomach?

"I think I've proven by now that I'm able to keep a secret. And I can keep secrets even from Frank and my wife. Please talk to me." Paul settled in the nearest chair.

"I'm not _that_ drunk, Paul." I was slurring slightly. "What, did you put truth serum in the brandy? Wesleyans don't believe in giving or receiving confession."

"This Wesleyan does. Ask yourself these three questions. Do I care about Frank? Do I want what's best for him, even though it kills me? Wouldn't it be nice to be able to tell _just one person_ , an outside observer, the entire truth that you've been concealing all these years?"

I stared at him, bewildered. Bewildered because I was actually considering it.

"You and I both know that your involvement in this goes much deeper than anyone suspects," Paul continued calmly. Soothingly. "At times you look like you're more haunted than Frank is. And I'm not the only person here who isn't entirely happy about this upcoming visitation weekend. It's impossible for a man to spend so much intimate time with a woman, raise children together, without developing some level of feelings for her. Let me share the burden with you, Joe. If there are any ethical choices to be made, we'll talk about them together. Tell me the full story."

I took another swig straight from the bottle. And began to speak.


	13. Chapter 13

Nancy

December 9, 2016

I was pretty sure that this large "garden" was only here for touristy purposes. There were plenty of more efficient ways to grow edible plants, and each group of visitors must have undone all the progress of the previous group. Nevertheless I walked along slowly with a basket of seed, giving Reid encouragements as he dug small holes with a spade. I sprinkled the seed into it, he filled in the hole and patted it, and Aaron watered it with an old-fashioned green watering can.

Aaron jiggled his left leg in impatience and anxiety, and I experienced similar emotions in the form of an uncooperative stomach. Aaron gave my shoulder an awkward pat, and I returned a tight smile. Aaron had had over a month to digest the fact that his father was still alive, and, although I would need to re-earn my trust with him (in an ironic role reversal), relief and joy had supplanted his initial sense of betrayal.

"Remember your promise," I said to him for the umpteenth time.

"If you remember yours," Aaron responded. We'd all agreed that, in exchange for a pleasant initial reunion, Aaron would later have ten uninterrupted private minutes to tell his father exactly what he thought of various decisions that had been made over the last few years.

Only Reid was oblivious to the tension, too young to understand. He'd always known that a lot of other kids had dads and he didn't, but he currently equated the word "Dad" with the word "stranger." He would not suffer the burden of anticipatory anxiety for this person, and would most likely treat him with wariness when he appeared.

I shook my head, disgusted with myself once again. In every other area of my life, I knew who I was and what I thought and felt. Yet when it came to my husband, everything mixed together.

Joe sat in a chair nearby, leaving us with our thoughts. We had less than forty-eight hours with Frank so he could be back in class, monitoring finals on Monday afternoon with almost no one the wiser. Joe had found us a FarmStay in Texas, a cute resort with plenty of options. We could participate in chores, play sports, live in luxury, or do nothing. The four of us had arrived yesterday and settled in.

What if something had happened to Frank on the way here? What if the weekend went terribly? What if someone had followed us here? What if it went too well and our hearts were broken afresh? Would this new, comfortable life that Joe and I had established with the kids be ripped apart…with Frank wanting custody of Reid?

None of these problems existed for the next two days. We had to enjoy our time with him.

There was a figure standing in my far left peripheral vision. I cringed, my pulse quickening, my palms slickening with fresh sweat. I slowly turned.

Frank stood a hundred and fifty feet away, staring at me, an unreadable expression on his face. Good posture, wavy brown hair parted to the left, and somehow with sparkling eyes even from that distance. Streaks of gray at the temples that he didn't bother trying to hide. A man next to him, presumably an official escort, took his bag and moved a respectable distance away. Away from our reunion.

I put my basket on the ground and took several tentative steps forward. I shouldn't call too much attention to us, I knew, even though there were only a handful of other residents here. Frank began walking toward me as well. A sharp intake of breath let me know that Aaron had noticed Frank as well. Suddenly I felt an absurd sense of competition and, jealous to be the first person to embrace Frank, I broke into a run.

Frank smiled, warm and gentle as always, and opened his arms to receive me. His familiar scent brought a flood of memories. He laughed and thrust his fingers into my hair. "Blonde and straight, huh," he teased. "I had no idea how you would react to seeing me. Nancy…I'm…"

"Don't you dare spend this moment apologizing," I whispered. "Just kiss me." And he did.

A smattering of applause broke out, and we reluctantly pulled apart. Frank looked over my shoulder and to the left. A look of almost angsty insecurity came over him as approached Aaron. "I don't remember looking up the last time I saw you."

Aaron tentatively put his arms around Frank, as if ascertaining that Frank was not a mirage. Frank tightened the hug, trying to take on the reassuring role even though he was a good three inches shorter. "I missed you constantly, Aaron."

"You have no idea," Aaron responded, and pulled away after a long moment. They assessed one another with an awkward tension. They would have to get to know each other all over again.

Reid had stayed in the garden, staring at us. I squeezed Frank's arm in encouragement. He slowly approached Reid, crouching in front of him. Reid gazed at him cautiously.

"Hi, Reid," Frank said softly. "I'm your dad."

"Hi," Reid said, and returned to digging his hole for seed.

I put a hand on Frank's shoulder to signal that nothing more was needed. No speeches, no hugs. "Let's all finish this row of seeds," I suggested.

"Slick job, guys, no one noticed that at all," Joe said, appearing at my elbow. He seemed disconcerted as well, so used to discussing Frank's absence instead of enjoying his presence. We were all shy for the remainder of chore time and lunch. I was grateful for our unorthodox decision to reunite publically; it forced us to keep the topics of conversation light.

"Well, it's a good thing I have a couple of special events lined up for you taciturn folks," Joe said with a twinkle in his eye. He rolled his trash from lunch into a ball and made a basket in the trashcan. "We have to be at the lodge in ten minutes to get measured for our segways."

"You better not have signed us up for any such damn thing," Aaron snapped. "You would beg for death before I was finished with you."

Frank looked between them in amusement. "Nothing's changed, only gotten worse," I informed him. "Aaron, please do not use such language, especially in front of your brother." Frank smiled sardonically, but I could detect some jealousy. His brother was closer to his own son than he was.

"Would you settle for other kinds of wheels, then, Cinderella?" Joe asked. He slapped a pamphlet on the table in front of Aaron. A gleaming, black-and-yellow Bumblebee four-wheeler.

"You're forgiven," Aaron said.

A half hour later found us revving the engines across the desert plains, Aaron and Joe at full throttle. Reid sat in front of me, his hands resting on the inside of the handlebars for balance. "I'm not getting it," I laughed as we thrust forward and stopped, thrust forward and stopped.

"You'll get used to it in a second," Frank encouraged. "Just turn your handles back very gradually." He reached over and brushed his hand on top of mine to demonstrate the appropriate rotation. An obvious ploy to touch my hand. Appropriately enough, I giggled like a schoolgirl.

Reid gave us a strange look.

We heard Joe and Aaron circling back to us, shouting taunts and jeers. Frank's eyes darkened. "Joe hasn't replaced you, Frank," I said to him. "Aaron cried for months when he thought he lost you, and spent this last month rejoicing that you will be back in his life."

"You ladies coming?" Joe called, spinning in a wide circle. I pulled back the handles gradually, and soon had more of the hang of it. Although I was grateful for my need for tutelage. My hand still glowed from where Frank had touched it. If Reid had ridden with Joe, maybe I would have been between Frank's legs.

We quickly abandoned civilization, picking up speed across the desert. Something primal unleashed within me, and I let out a whoop of excitement. Cacti and boulders whipped past us, with rusted orange mountains in the background. I risked a sideways look at Frank, and found him admiring my hair. The blonde streamed behind me, falling almost to my waist.

Just when I was starting to worry, I saw a cloud of dust that signaled that Joe and Aaron had come to a stop in front of us. Frank sped up in front of me, and I called his challenge and passed him just as he arrived. I slammed on the brakes as we arrived, and Reid held on for dear life.

" _Darn_ , Mom," Aaron said, emphasizing the non-expletive nature of his word choice.

I smiled. Then my eyes widened at the scene in front of me.

It was a ghost town, complete with a dilapidated hotel and a structure that looked like it had been bombed in a war. I almost expected to see movie cameras set up. Totally unsafe for the kids. I edged the four-wheeler forward to take a closer look.

Aaron and Joe had parked their vehicles haphazardly and were now approaching us. "Terlingua, Texas," Joe said. "A famous ghost town known for a mercury mine. Everyone who moved here kept dying, so it earned the nickname of Helltown. Finally they realized the connection. The mercury dried up eventually and it's been a ghost town ever since." He pointed to a patch of civilization in the distance. "Except for a few eccentric souls who are apparently fed up with society. Some people moved here recently, and are working on remodeling this church over here."

I got off my vehicle and helped Reid down. Joe was already walking toward the church, and Reid ran to grip his hand.

Frank and I followed, entering a church that must have been two hundred years old. Wooden pews, wooden floor, wooden ceiling, all remodeled yet presumably faithful to the original atmosphere. The windows were open, letting a sparse breeze blow in, and stained glass decorated the tops of each window. Two bird's nests sat undisturbed in the rafters. There was an organ in the back and an elaborately decorated altar at the front. There was a good chance that this church was used currently.

"I think we three will search the other buildings first," Joe said, giving Aaron a hard look. Aaron looked decidedly disappointed at this verdict.

"You and I will have time together in a few minutes, Son," Frank said quietly. The intimate term pleased Aaron, I could tell, after years of thinking that he would never hear it from a man again. Joe picked up Reid and the three exited the church, disappearing from view.

I pulled on Frank's shirt to inch him closer to me, and then wrapped my arms around his waist. I felt his arms encircle me protectively, and I nestled my head into the hollow of his neck. Inhaling deeply.

"You're too good to me, Nancy," Frank's voice rumbled into my ear. I felt the vibration caused by his vocal chords. "For years I've imagined this meeting. Wondering if you were going to slap me in the face as I deserve."

I pulled back but left my hands on his upper arms. "Obviously you saw something that you don't want anyone to know about. Even Joe. Even me. I'm assuming that it's for our own protection."

Frank tucked a strand of blonde hair behind my ear. His hand was trembling slightly. "I can assure you that I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever happens from here, Nancy, I am so grateful to be able to see you like this. So vibrant, strong, happy. And to see that you did such a good job raising our kids."

"Joe helped," I said. "And thank you."

"Please believe me, Nancy, I'm so, so sorry—"

"I did not marry you to have a bodyguard," I said firmly. "I married you to have a partner in life. We were overpowered that night. Our strength couldn't save us, our wits couldn't save us. Yet we go on."

Frank pulled me closer to him. "Are _you_ really the one comforting _me_ about that night?" he whispered. "There's nothing I could ever do to earn your forgiveness for what I allowed to happen to you."

"You're thinking exactly how the bad guys want you to think," I told him. "You were already restrained when they got me into that van. You did not do anything to me. They did. And they could not break me."

"God," Frank said, and his voice broke. He held me tightly then, pushing my hips against the wall of the church. "Exactly the strong woman I remembered. I love you, Nancy."

My mind screamed at me not to lead this man on, not to offer him more than the comfort and reassurance than I could give. But right now…I would tell him the truth. "I love you, too, Frank."

I felt tension leave his body, replaced by a cautious optimism. "I know we've got a lot of business to work through and decisions to make, Nancy. But just for now…can I kiss you?"

He knew me quite well. I knew that he could read the answer in my eyes.

I responded by lightly touching his hair. He crushed my lips with his own, cupping the seat of my jeans and pressing me toward him. I knew I still had that power over him, the power I'd always had since that night in the ski lodge. But I couldn't believe that it had only taken a couple of hours for me to come under his power in return.

I was acutely aware of the sensations of my body, but seemed to be having an out-of-body experience at the same time. All of the reasons for staying away from Frank Hardy melted in his arms, just for today and tomorrow.


	14. Chapter 14

Frank

December 9, 2016 (Cont'd)

After dark

It was an unbelievable display. My family and I walked into a huge barn, populated with picnic tables set up around a very large dance floor. Homemade centerpieces decorated each table. A kitchen along the right hand side was serving food that would make a vegetarian cry. The live band was playing at a reasonable volume, and I was grateful that we would be able to hear each other speak. The place was so packed that the entire farm might have shown up for it. But I knew that none of these things were what would impress my wife. I turned to see her reaction.

She gazed in awe at the display of Christmas lights. Red, green and white, some large like dyed Easter eggs, some small like multicolored fireflies. Strung like popcorn on the Christmas tree, cascading like a waterfall from the corners of the walls and all the way down to the floor. Her mouth open like an excited little girl, she slowly turned three hundred and sixty degrees, making sure she took it all in.

Joe nodded to me and headed toward the drink table, already eying a brunette that was sitting by herself. He'd explained to me earlier that he wanted to be in the near vicinity for the entirety of this weekend, but he wanted this dance to be just for me and my family.

"All right y'all, time for the country line dancing class! This will last for twenty minutes, and then from 7:00 to 11:00 tonight you take your own risks coming out on the dance floor!" The instructor took her place at the front of the room, turning around to reveal a backside that filled out her skirt nicely.

I waited until Nancy turned around once more to look at the lights. Not as nicely as my wife's did, I judged.

I turned around to head to the dance floor, and froze when I saw Aaron staring at me. I held my breath, trying to think of what I could possibly say, when his facial expression mercifully relaxed into a smirk.

"Well, _I'm_ not going to fight you for her," he said, heading off to a corner of giggling girls.

"What? Oh, sorry, Frank," Nancy said apologetically, trailing Aaron with her eyes. "I can't believe he just did that when we only have today and tomorrow together. I'll bring him back."

I put a hand out to stop her. "No. This is perfect. I want memories of my son acting like a normal teenager, not just talking about his feelings with his old man."

She studied me. "How did your talk go with him in Terlingua this afternoon?"

I raised my eyebrows. "I'm glad I brought some Excedrin. But it was…good." Aaron had been very loud and quite opinionated, but he had been more generous to me than I'd deserved. Even though Nancy had made the decision for them not to join me, I had accepted it.

Nancy said nothing in response, but laid a hand on my arm and smiled. Oh, God, _that_ smile. I don't think she realized what that smile did to me, especially after our kiss this afternoon. That kiss that might mean that we were on our way to a reconciliation…

By the time I'd recovered, it was too late to respond in kind. She bent down and kissed Reid's forehead, whispered some encouragements into his ear, and took his hand to lead him to dance class.

I followed them. I'd gone undercover as a backup dancer for a case ten years ago, and I found myself easing into the shuffles, struts, and pivot turns with a tenuous familiarity. By 7:15, when the dance class was over and the lights were down low and the band was turned up, I was prepared to keep up.

Nancy wasn't doing too badly, but I was secretly pleased when she frowned and studied my feet to see how she could improve. Reid knocked into me a few times and scurried shyly back to his mother, but I was grateful for any kind of contact I could have with him.

Periodically I checked to see how Aaron was doing—proud of his quick progress and self-confidence with females, but wary for the same reason—and once I saw him gaping at me in surprise. _This old college professor's got moves you didn't expect_ , I thought with satisfaction. I noticed a cowgirl dancing just slightly too close to me, and I took Reid's hand, motioning for Nancy to take the other, and we danced with him between us.

Reid was obviously becoming frustrated with the complicated steps. I crouched down next to him. "I'd like to pick you up, if that's okay with you."

He looked at me suspiciously, but nodded. I lifted him up and continued the moves as best as I was able. Not too much later, the music slowed, and Nancy put her arms around both me and our son and we moved slowly and rhythmically.

A bit too rhythmically; before the song was halfway over, Reid was battling to stay awake. Finally he fell against my shoulder and his eyes stayed closed.

Nancy checked her watch. 8:12. "Past his bedtime," she mouthed. "I'll take him back to the cabin."

"I'll go with you," I responded quietly. "Not much fun dancing by myself."

She nodded and went to tell Aaron and Joe to meet us back at the cabin when they were finished. I realized suddenly that Aaron was the same age I was when he'd been conceived. I sent up a quick prayer that he could resist temptation better than I had.

Nancy returned, and the three of us exited the barn into a warm, starlit night. In a sudden spark of bravery, I took her hand as we walked, Reid bobbing against my shoulder. She didn't pull away. "Natural Christmas lights," I said, pointing to the stars, and she smiled.

We walked slower than necessary, prolonging the night, and entered our cabin. We kept the light off. I gently laid our four-year-old on the bed that he and Nancy shared.

"Let's sit on the porch," she mouthed. She moved toward the door, but heard Reid mumble, "Story."

Memories flooded back to me. Nancy looked almost alarmed. She gawked at me, nonplussed by the simple request.

"I'll read you a story," I said quietly. Nancy broke out of her trance and walked to Reid's bag of supplies, pulling out a book.

I lay down next to Reid, turning the small side lamp on and putting an arm around him. "The Very Hungry Caterpillar."

Reid snuggled closer to me, putting his thumb in his mouth. I read a few pages. "He started to look for some food. On Monday he ate through one apple. But he was still hungry."

Nancy came to the bed and sat on my other side. She took her shoes off.

"On Tuesday, he ate through two pears. But he was still hungry."

Nancy swung her feet onto the bed. She hesitatingly put a hand on my arm.

I stiffened, acutely aware of her touch. "On Wednesday, he ate through three plums."

Nancy nestled her head against my shoulder as I read.

"But he was still hungry," I said, my voice now slightly shaky. "On Thursday, he ate through four strawberries."

She found a few chest hairs that were sticking out of my shirt and rubbed them between her fingers. She inhaled deeply at the base of my neck, the area where I daily applied my English Leather cologne.

"But he was still hungry."

Nancy's lips brushed against my neck.

Dropping the book, I looked at Reid, then climbed hastily off at the foot of the bed. "He's asleep," I mouthed to Nancy, who was gazing at me sleepily, bemusedly. "I'll see you in the morning, Nancy." I quietly shut the door.

I walked gingerly to my bedroom next to hers and shut the door. I slowly, carefully unzipped my jeans to relieve the discomfort, then pulled them down to my knees and sat down on the edge of my bed. Resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, I willed myself to think of every sweaty, hairy truck driver I'd ever seen. I didn't want to finish this night like a frustrated teenager.

I looked up in alarm as Nancy abruptly opened my door, then shut it quietly behind her. Grateful that I'd kept the light off, I grabbed for my sheets. Nancy ignored me, walking straight to the small window on the far right side of my bed and opening it widely. I stared at her in bewilderment. My detective brain put it together just as she approached the bed.

Aaron and Joe wouldn't be able to see us, but we would be able to hear them when they walked up the path to the cabin.

I took off my shoes, and she motioned for me not to undress any further. We had to be able to look presentable quickly.

I lay back on the bed and she straddled me. I lifted her skirt and skimmed her thighs, quickly ascertaining both that she had nothing underneath her skirt and that she was ready for me. The next moment I swore loudly, sitting upright in shock at the searing pleasure, now so unfamiliar to me.

She covered my mouth. I had a sudden flashback of Nancy in the van, and paused in agonizing indecision. "I'm fine, Frank," she whispered, then pushed my shoulders back down onto the bed. She took control, moving quickly, deliberately. My facial features slackened as the pressure began to build, and I focused on the silhouette of her straight hair swaying back and forth. We made love quietly, parentally, listening both for the sound of footsteps outside the cabin and for movement in the adjacent bedroom. But years of abstinence had left me unprepared, and I finished quite early with a flush of embarrassment.

She transitioned into forceful, frenzied kisses. Our hands began to explore, first excitedly and then tenderly. "Frank," she whispered once, and soon I was ready again. This time I stood up, pulling her to the edge of the bed. I paused for a moment with her legs wrapped around my waist, willing myself to remember this moment forever. This time I focused on pleasing my wife.

Afterward, exhausted, she settled back into the middle of the bed. She opened her arms for me, and my throat tightened at the simple gesture of love. I settled on top of her, propped up on my elbows. I caressed a thumb against her cheek. She looked up at me and scraped her fingernails lightly down my back. Two quick kisses, and her expression changed.

Nancy sat up slowly. She smoothed her hair. She edged to the side of the bed as I felt my heart squeeze with pain once more. The moonlight briefly reflected off her cheeks, stained with tears, and she was gone. I heard the door to her room open and close.

I stared at the ceiling to process what had just happened. Then I considered that I might have a lot of time alone in my future to process, but I would only be in Texas for another thirty-six hours.

I pulled on pajama pants and made the bed. I walked out to the common room and put the light on. I started a small pot of water boiling on the stove. Then I walked to Nancy's door and gently tested the knob. It was unlocked.

I followed the sound of her sniffling to the foot of the bed. "I'm making tea," I whispered. "I won't touch you. I just want to spend some time with you."

She came out immediately. I sent up a quick prayer of thanks, then felt guilty about praying considering my recent behavior. Well. We _were_ married.

We walked over to the stove and I handed her an empty mug. "Please don't regret what we just did," I said. "It was precious to me. And it doesn't decide anything. I'm not expecting anything to be different now."

"Thank you," Nancy whispered. "It's still going to be a very hard road ahead for all of us, no matter what we decide to do. And, Frank…now we're facing a possible _third_ unplanned pregnancy."

My jaw dropped. I started to laugh. It was infectious, and soon we were holding our sides with laughter, trying unsuccessfully to cover each other's mouths. It was interrupted only by the whistle of the kettle, and we were forced to keep our hands steady or risk scalding ourselves.

After applying appropriate amounts of sugar, I held the screen door open for her. We sat on the front porch and waited for our older son and my brother.

"Look at that moon," she said admiringly. "Things always seemed easier, knowing that you were somewhere looking at that same moon. As clichéd as that is."

It was my turn for my eyes to blur with tears. "Say whatever clichés you want to me, as long as they're true," I said. "Nancy, I'm tired of hearing stories about our children through my brother. I want to hear them from you. Tell me about the boys."

And she did.


	15. Chapter 15

Frank

December 10, 2016

I woke up the next morning feeling decidedly refreshed. The alarm clock read 7:08.

Stretching, I walked into the main room of the cabin. Everyone must be sleeping in. All the other three doors were closed.

I desperately needed some prayer time. Just a few minutes. The need had formed into a pleasant addiction over the last few years.

When I opened the front door, I saw Aaron sitting in one of the porch chairs. He stood up when he saw me.

"Good morning," I said, making sure the screen door didn't bang. He had a sardonic little smile on his face, but there didn't seem to be anything good-natured about it. It was almost a sneer.

"Morning, _Dad_ ," he emphasized, walking away from me.

I followed cautiously, my guard up. "How did you sleep? Wait, what time did you get in yesterday?"

"Pretty darn late. Did the mattress pass your inspection last night?"

I opened my mouth to give a fatherly retort about personal business, but exhaled slowly instead. I had been a full-time father to this young man for five years out of his eighteen. Right now, I felt like I hadn't earned the right.

"I don't think it's fair for you to sleep with my mother this weekend when you're not going to be with her next weekend," Aaron said forcefully. His hands were balled into fists at his sides and he thrust them into his pockets. "I understand that there's a piece of paper that says that you're married, but there are plenty of other documents that say that you are a single man, Mr. Campbell."

I considered this briefly, then nodded. "You're right. I give you my word that it will not happen again until we are living as a married couple." I thrust my hand out for a handshake.

He hadn't been expecting that. Aaron looked dubiously at me, but eventually raised his hand in return.

I gripped his hand until he gasped with pain, and then pulled him in closer until our faces were a foot apart. "And once she and I are under the same roof again, Son, I can think of several thousand other places where you'll want to be." I grinned wickedly.

Aaron yelped and ripped his hand out of my grip, turning away with a grimace. He walked several feet away but then turned around, a tentative longing in his eyes.

I saw his question. "It takes two people to make a decision, Aaron. But I can promise you that I thought of you every day while I was away from you, and I will search for every possible way to reunite with your mother and stay by your side. And, even if that doesn't work out…I will still find a way to have a relationship with you." I shrugged. "You're an adult now, anyway. The courts can't keep us apart."

His shoulders slumped with relief, and a wary hope. I was acutely reminded of every time I'd left for my next case during his childhood, hoping that I would return to him, and how he'd spent the last five and a half years with no hope of my return. I returned his gaze, grieving for his teenage years that I had missed. I walked toward him with one arm out, and he walked into it willingly.

"There's hope," I said once more as we released each other from our embrace.

"I hope you're right." Aaron wrinkled his nose and walked back to the cabin. "And, by the way, I figured it out by the way you two were dancing together last night. I wasn't stupid enough to come back to the cabin any time soon after that."


	16. Chapter 16

Joe

December 10, 2016 (Cont'd)

"Cabin service," I announced, the screen door banging behind me. I carefully put the three French Vanillas on the counter. "Free coffee at the cafeteria, but I know that's not good enough for the rock stars here. Damn, Aaron, this place looks almost as bad as your underwear drawer."

"How would you know that, perv? And please stop using foul language in front of my brother." Aaron had to play leap frog over a variety of strewn paraphernalia in order to swipe his coffee off the counter, implicitly proving my point that this cabin looked a lot more lived-in than it had yesterday.

Frank hadn't taken his eyes off Reid. "Reid and I have been getting to know each other. He's showing me exactly how he gets ready for each day. In the summer, in the winter, on preschool days, on weekend days." I could tell that he had been enjoying the precious moments he'd had with his younger son.

"Where's Nancy?"

"She went for a run. Only in populated areas, as you instructed." Frank stood up and held a hand out to Reid, pulling him up as well. "She was going to skip it, but I want her to be feeling great the rest of the day. I gave her the message that you wanted us to leave for breakfast at 9:00. So she should be back any minute now."

"Well, it took many hours, but I'm ready for the day," Aaron commented drily. Other than a fresh T-shirt, he looked identical to how he had yesterday. He had learned the same lesson I had many years ago about our unruly hair type: it actually looked better if we never tried to comb it at all.

"I always eat my Flintstone vitamin with breakfast," Reid informed his father. He tugged on Frank's arm, leading him into his and Nancy's bedroom. "Mommy lets me pick who I want to eat. I want to eat Bamm-Bamm today. She keeps them in her Mommy bag so she remembers to give it to me, but I always remember better than her anyway."

Aaron and I looked at each other once we were alone. I wondered if I should be saying something profound, giving emotional support for the day ahead, but decided against it. With clouds of secrets finally lifting after years of adult lies, Aaron knew by now to trust his own judgment rather than rely on anyone else's.

A moment later I heard whispers coming from the bedroom, and then Reid padded across the room toward me. "He wants to talk to you," he said.

I ruffled Reid's hair and headed toward the bedroom, my instincts warning me that something must be very wrong. One look at Frank's expression caused me to close the door behind me.

My brother knelt in front of Nancy's bedroom closet in a daze, looking like a man who had been flogged by Lucifer himself. He turned toward me, and his unfocused eyes reminded me of the day that had brought us all to this point. He had a thick stack of papers in his hand.

I glanced at the top page and my eyes popped out in shock. I snatched the papers and rifled through them quickly.

"Divorce papers," Frank said slowly. "She brought divorce papers on this trip. Already filled out, only needing a signature. She crawls into my bed one night, serves me papers the next."

I flinched, then expertly concealed my emotions. But Frank was an expert in reading emotions, and in the next moment he was coming for me. I braced myself for the impact as he grabbed me by both shoulders and slammed me into the far wall. His face was only a few inches from mine.

"Why should it bother you that Nancy and I were in bed together last night? Are you and Nancy in love, Joe?"

My breath caught. "How can you ask me that, Frank," I said, feeling my temper flare in a way that it hadn't in years. "I moved and changed my career to make sure that your family was safe, that Nancy had help raising your kids."

"One of whom I had no right to know existed."

"I searched for years for you, when you could have just picked up the phone and made a relayed call through the routing station," I seethed, shoving him away from me. "I arranged this entire weekend. I had to stand by and watch and defend you as Mom's heart was broken over and over again. I had no idea about these divorce papers, Frank, and I can't believe Nancy would do this. Not now, at least. Not like this."

Frank took hold of my shoulders once more. He gave me one last, long, lingering look, and then released me. The fight had left him.

"I believe you," he said. "And of course I'm grateful for all you've done. The price on my head is obsolete, as far as we know, but it's too late. Of course Nancy wouldn't want to be in a relationship with the man who was utterly useless when—"

The outer cabin door opened, and we heard Nancy's cheerful voice greeting the boys. A few seconds later Nancy burst through the bedroom door, turning breathlessly toward us, slick with sweat from her run. Her gaze immediately fell to the stack of papers that was still in my hands, and her expression changed. Surprise, but predominantly guilt.

Frank and Nancy locked eyes for a long moment. He walked toward her and she cringed, staring uncertainly at him. But all he did was turn and walk out to the boys. "Let's go to breakfast, guys," Frank said. He took the meal tickets off the kitchen counter and approached Reid, thrusting out his hand. His strained demeanor was obvious to Reid, however, and Reid ran to his brother instead. Aaron, cooperative for once, scooped Reid into his arms and left the cabin. Frank paused, swallowed, and exited the cabin after them.

I turned to Nancy. My rage, white and simmering, just this once manifested in an even tone and clear thinking. "You've got quite a pair of balls, Nancy. How could you be so cruel? Serving him papers on your _reunion weekend?"_

"Then what weekend should I have planned it for?" Nancy shot back hotly, my words raising her defenses. "Two weekends from now, four, six? After he promises Aaron he's moving back and snuggles up to Reid? Talks to your mom that everything's going great, puts his notice in at his work?"

I put up a hand to stop her. "Then let's forget about the timing for now. Tell me why you've made this decision, Nancy, and _don't lie to me."_

"You know perfectly why I'm doing this!" she screeched, raising her hands in supplication. "You saw with your own eyes the proof that someone is still after Frank, still after the _kids_ to get to Frank!"

"Please don't insult my intelligence by pretending that's the only reason," I responded coldly. "Like you and Frank have never had a person after you before? All of your dad's sources, all of Wakefield's sources say that there's no mafia-wide contract out for Frank. Whoever this person is, we can track them down, take care of it. But I know you quite well, Nance, and if you really wanted to reunite with Frank, you would find a way. So what other reason do you have?"

Her eyes filled with tears, and she pressed her palms to her eyes angrily. "I never cried before any of this happened, _never_."

I waited. I wanted to take a step toward her, but I forced myself to stay where I was.

"I…" She looked away from me, and I could detect the hints of embarrassment, a cautious vulnerability. "A part of me got used to you, Joe. I've always missed Frank, but you and I…we've created such a good life together. You're so good with the kids, so gentle with Reid, able to meet Aaron sass for sass. It's not perfect, but we're comfortable together. And I like it."

My hands shook. And I made up my mind to ask her the question. My brother's wife.

"Do you love me?"

She hesitated.

My face froze. I waited another few seconds. "Do you love Frank?"

Nancy covered her mouth with both hands. Her face crumbled, her eyes filling with a fresh layer of tears.

And in that moment, even as my heart broke, I was free. Free to be happy for my brother and relieved that the terrible price was off his head. Liberated from the prospect of my nephews never again living with their father, of the resentment that they would have felt toward me, of our parents that would never have understood if Nancy and I had gotten together. I would never love another woman the same way I loved Nancy, I knew that. But it was time to begin moving on. I walked toward her, gratitude forcing me to put one foot in front of the other. God, I was grateful that I would never know what decision I would have made if Nancy had been in love with me in return.

I stopped when I was very close to her. "Sometimes you talk a good game that it's fine with you that Frank hasn't told you the details of that night. And you know that he's never told me either. But you should have figured out this mystery a long time ago, Nancy," I said gently. "I'm Frank's brother, but you're his _wife_. Frank loves you exponentially more than anyone else in the world. Your safety and well-being mean more to him than our mom's, our dad's, even mine. Obviously Frank made a hard choice that _you_ would have valued the killer's safety and well-being higher than your own."

I left her then, wide-eyed, struggling with the clue I'd just given her. I exited the cabin, the screen door banging behind me, and bent over. My hands on my knees, I struggled for breath. My duty now was even clearer than ever: to try my best to reconcile Frank with his family, and to make sure that this weekend was the safest it could be considering the circumstances. Slowly standing upright, swallowing my emotions for now, I scanned the perimeter for my plainclothes officers who had been hired to keep an eye on us at a distance. I saw the first officer immediately, but I couldn't see the second. I put in a call to the local sheriff requesting a change in officers.


	17. Chapter 17

Nancy

December 10, 2016 (Cont'd)

My legs could barely support my weight. I shook, walking with an uneven gait, ignoring the occasional concerned looks coming from other vacationers. I stopped outside of the dining hall, muttering every self-soothing statement that my therapist had ever taught me. Finally, pushing hair out of my eyes with a sweat-dampened hand, I forced myself to join my family.

Frank refused to even look up as I approached their table. Many years ago, a generation ago, Aaron had taught us how to take small bites and move food around on a plate to throw off any suspicion of not eating. Frank had learned his lesson well, but I could tell that his food was untouched. The three others were eating, Joe with a protective arm around Reid. Aaron was ready for me, though. His glare was waiting for me as I approached.

"These two curse words are refusing to tell me what happened without your permission," he snapped. "Can you please tell me now so I don't spend the rest of today jumping to my own conclusions?"

Joe moved and stood behind Aaron, putting his hands gently on his nephew's shoulders. He nodded tightly at me. Aaron obviously didn't like his uncle's hands restraining him, but he tolerated it.

My chin trembled slightly. "They found divorce papers in my duffel bag."

Aaron jerked, attempting to stand, but Joe pressed hard on his shoulders. "Don't move," he said. "This puts a different spin on this weekend, certainly. Which means that we need to value this day even more than we thought we did. Frank and Nancy, clearly you two need to have some time alone to talk today. What time would you like? I don't think it should be any time soon."

Frank still hadn't met my eyes. "Let's have a normal day. How about right after dinner, so we can still try to have a nice evening." His voice was tight.

I assessed his profile. I'd broken him, I knew, which broke me too. The mild soreness between my legs ached, reminding me acutely of last night. "Fine."

"Only an hour, Joe," Frank said, more firmly this time. "Then we'll do something fun tonight so I can spend as much time as I can with my sons."

"Okay. We'll take this afternoon off and go to the pool, then find something for dinner. You two take the time that you need, and then there's a county fair two miles down the road that we can go to. But for now, let's all go to church and relax for an hour."

Frank gave Joe a small smile of gratitude. I knew my husband was much more spiritual now than before he'd left, but I suspected that he was relieved for the same reason I was: church would provide a much-needed reprieve from speaking.

"What's divorce?" Reid asked.

Joe sighed miserably, as if the question was the final straw. He picked up Reid and I heard him trying to explain relationships in 4-year-old terms as he walked out the door. I cowardly ran after them to avoid an awkward moment with Aaron and my husband. My ex-husband. I shook my head fiercely to try to force the thought out of my head.

The sermon was wildly incongruent with my current needs and emotional state, something about the Plenary Inspiration of the Word of God, and I used the preacher's monotonous voice as a springboard to stare at the altar and lose myself in my thoughts.

I was still in shock about the clue that Joe had given me regarding who the killer was. I couldn't stand the thought of the kids still being in danger if Frank and I reunited. And I grieved for my comfortable relationship with Joe, which would never be the same again. He had been there for me during the worst year of my life and had helped me pick up the pieces to assemble a new one. But there had been relief in his eyes when my silence had admitted that I wasn't in love with him. He wanted me to reunite with Frank, but I wasn't sure if I could do it. I had been in love with Frank since Aaron was a toddler. But Frank and I had unfinished business that couldn't be resolved in an hour tonight.

Joe passed his Smartphone down the pew so each of us could see the photos of the plainclothes officers who would be taking the places of our current pair later this afternoon. His text explained that he'd requested an unexpected shift exchange because one of the current officers didn't appear to be taking his job too seriously. I'd noticed myself that one of the officers was frequently not in eyesight, and I nodded to Joe that he was making the right decision. Better safe than sorry.

Frank

December 10, 2016 (Cont'd)

If only the sermon had been about the sanctity of marriage, the holiness of the covenant between a man and a woman, of Adam and Eve and how what God joins together, let no man put asunder. Or a verse or two about how sex should be used to consummate a healthy marriage, not to tease a husband the day before divorcing him. I was furious with Nancy.

I grieved not only for the past several years with my family, but for the future. I had allowed myself a smoldering ember of hope that I might possibly reunite with them, that my life could again resemble what it had been for those five brief, happy years, that maybe my very existence would not cause a danger to the people I loved.

And Joe had never answered my question about whether or not he and Nancy were in love.

Yet my conscience screamed that Nancy was right to cut ties with me. It was unacceptable to have our kids in any form of danger from such a secret and massive group of underground criminals. She was a modern woman, and she had proven that she could raise our kids on her own. That she could survive well without me, thrive even. She had married me for Aaron's sake, which was a poor foundation for a relationship. I had never been her original choice, but merely a means of comfort when she thought we were going to die after an avalanche. There was no reason for her to return to a man who had done nothing while she was raped and beaten.

But regardless of my weaknesses as her man, I'd made a decision that I would stay resolute on despite her feelings. I would form a good relationship with each of my kids, a relationship that involved regular contact.

I felt a tentative teenaged hand on my shoulder. "There's a bunch of Italians in the back getting ready to take the offering," Aaron whispered. "Put twice as much money in. It's going to be a dollar for them, a dollar for the plate."

I hunched over in the pew, hiding a smile. I sensed Aaron's loss, his fresh hopes once more dashed. But Nancy wouldn't choose to reunite with me for his sake. She hadn't married me for his sake, either.

Later, at the lake, I pasted a smile on my face. I pretended not to mind that my four-year-old was much more comfortable building a sand castle with my brother than with me. Nancy and I exchanged a few strained sentences, coordinating lunch and beach towels and who would take Reid to the bathroom. Certainly not the types of exchanges I'd been dreaming about since 2011. Eventually Aaron and I ended up several feet away from everyone else on the beach, trying to re-establish a connection that would have to survive a permanent long-distance relationship.

"Don't be too angry with your mother," I said quietly. "Her decision is logical, considering the mistakes I've made. I haven't always been a good husband to her, but I can promise you that I will be a better father to you."

Aaron shook his head, conflicting emotions on his face. "This stuff is for fairy tales. Finding out your father isn't really dead after all. Then thinking you'll be back, then suddenly a half hour later to find out maybe you're not going to come back…I know that your marriage is between you and Mom, but…Dad, I want you back so bad, there are no words for it." He blushed at his own vulnerability, and I smiled. He had inherited my embarrassing trait, his neck and face turning an obvious shade of red.

"The feeling is mutual, but I don't want you to blame your mother for a decision that I deserve. You and I are going to work something out. We can write and call through the switchboard, that's not a problem, and we'll get together maybe every few months or so. Whatever's safe." I searched his face, wanting to remember every detail.

"Safe," he repeated in disgust. "Some things are more important than being safe."

That was exactly the attitude that had led to Nancy deceiving him about my death, but I did not voice the thought. I changed the subject. "You're a senior in high school now. Have you thought of what field you'll go into?"

Aaron glanced at me quickly, apparently unsure of my reaction. "I haven't decided yet. But I'm leaning toward…going into medicine."

My eyebrows shot up. He'd always been so sharp in keeping up with my and Nancy's cases, I had more or less assumed he'd try a similar career. "Oh…Aaron…thank _God_."

He looked at me sharply to ascertain that I was serious. Then we both started to laugh.

"The worst you'd have to face is a malpractice lawsuit. Call either of your grandfathers, they know the best lawyers," I said with a wink. I suddenly thought of something outrageous.

"What's with that look on your face?" Aaron asked.

Nancy was still out of earshot, but I lowered my voice for the sake of caution. "I may or may not regret saying this, but Houghton has an excellent pre-med program."

Aaron arched an eyebrow, his smirk settling on his features once more. "Sounds convenient."

"I'm serious, it has a high radio of students who get into medical school," I insisted, then stopped myself. I took a moment to stare at Reid, who was currently splashing his mother in knee-high water. His small arms flailed, soaking her up to her shoulders.

I'd been at Houghton for several years and experienced no safety concerns, even with an agent such as Wakefield willing to sell me to the highest bidder. Houghton gave free tuition to children of professors, and even the room and board wouldn't be a problem if I paid Paul and Marie extra to have him live with us. They'd love to have him, I knew that, even with all his sass. Houghton was rural, but it was tight-knit, and as long as he didn't walk home along he would always be around people.

Reid splashed Nancy again. Two large droplets of water formed at the tops of her breasts, then trickled into her cleavage. Grinning, Nancy bent over to splash him back.

I turned back to Aaron before my groin had a chance to respond. "Now tell me if you've ever been in love."

As always happens when time should be standing still, it sped up instead, and my heart sank in proportion with the setting sun. We cleaned up from the beach, lazily taking turns with showers. Joe brought us subs from the dining hall so we could play chutes and ladders in the comfort of our cabin. Reid was highly passionate about the outcome of the game, and luckily the randomness picked him for the victory.

"And now your mom and dad need some time alone," Joe announced, bringing the trash can to the edge of the table. He slid in the remains of dinner as I broke out in a cold sweat. "Uncle Joe will be taking the two of you to the rec center. They've got all kinds of games there, and people your own age."

"The rec center my _buttocks_ ," Aaron said pointedly. "Tracy and I are meeting for a proper goodbye."

My antennae rose immediately, as did Nancy's. She stared at him in trepidation. "The girl from the dance last night? And what constitutes a proper goodbye?"

"A handshake."

"You can give your proper goodbye at the rec center, with the other mature adults," Joe said in irritation.

Aaron smiled innocently. "You may have to choose whether you want to guard me or Reid."

"And then I'll choose whether I'll put you over my knee or take off my belt," Joe retorted.

"Can I talk to your father, please, without having to worry about you testing the limits?" Nancy snapped, and I was grateful to hear that she sounded even more nervous about our conversation than I was. "Staying at the rec center would be the most considerate to all of us, but if you can't handle it, then use common sense and stay in well-lit areas, make sure you're in view of our plainclothes officers, stay on the path, and remember to have some respect for yourself and another human being."

I checked my watch. "So we'll expect you back here by 7:15 at the latest, Aaron."

Bored of this argument, Reid clapped his hands in excitement, putting his hand into my brother's and pulling him toward the door. "We'll all meet back here at 7:15, then-I can't hold this kid back," Joe said in amusement, grabbing Aaron's forearm as he passed him. Aaron snatched his Siamese twin—his iPhone—from the table and allowed himself to be lead out the cabin door.

Nancy and I looked at each other for a long moment. We heard crickets coming from the open window, the distant sounds of happy families. I set up two folding chairs three feet apart and gestured for her to take a seat. I didn't want us to be comfortable, and I didn't want a table between us. It was time for my wife and I to have a years-overdue conversation that might decide the course of the rest of our lives.

She swallowed and approached me, taking a seat in the proffered chair. I sat and waited for her to speak. She had made a decision, so she could be the one to begin this discussion. And I was totally unprepared for what she said first.

"I know who the killer was, Frank."

She couldn't be serious. I stared at her in surprise, then gaped at her in shock. She bit her lip and blinked rapidly.

"Oh, Nance, I was hoping to spare you from that," I said soothingly, opening my legs and pulling her chair in front of me. I held her while she trembled. There was a hitch in her breathing, but she didn't cry. I smoothed her hair and comforted my wife.

"You're an idiot for not telling me and Joe," Nancy said in a shaking voice. She leaned into me. "We're not children. We could have handled it."

"I wasn't going to ask Joe to carry that secret from you, and I didn't want you to…go through this." I kissed her head. "How did you find out, love?"

"Joe had figured it out. He gave me a hint that it must have been one of my people, not one of yours."

I smiled. "Joseph. Too smart for his own good."

Nancy pulled away from me, sitting back in her seat once more and smoothing her hair. As if she were getting back to business. This might not change her decision about our divorce. And I understood that the purpose of this conversation was about more than that. Our first priority was to process what had happened those years ago.

"Let's talk about April 10," I said. "Do you want to talk first or do you want me to?"

Nancy took a deep breath. "I want to go first."

"You have so much courage, Nancy." I leaned forward and took both of her hands in mine.

"I was watching Days of our Lives on DVR when those guys broke in." Nancy smiled sadly at me. "You know I was forever telling you I was going to give up that brainless habit. Well, let me tell you, I never watched another episode again. At first I thought it was you, or my dad, or a group of people surprising me for my birthday. So I lost a precious few seconds in defending myself. I held my own, throwing everything in the house at them and trying to escape…I got a few good hits in, but of course they were too strong for me close up, and there were so many of them. I found my way to the side door by the bathroom but there was a guy waiting for me who got me on the head with his gun." She sighed.

I stayed silent, intensely focused.

"I was nauseous as they carried me outside, completely helpless, and I will never forget the cold ridges of the van floor. I remember the metal patches, a few sections of frayed carpet. I fought for consciousness, slipping in and out. But I was awake when he said he was going to rape me as revenge against my father." Nancy looked at me.

I shook my head sadly. "I was hoping you hadn't heard that."

"Joe is the only person I ever told." Nancy gripped my hands tighter. "And then it was…I felt so feeble. I've spent my career outwitting criminals, but that night I was completely at the mercy of someone larger and stronger than I was, and that person wanted to hurt me. Plus the sheer physical pain of when they hit me. I learned that an act that was so intimate and pleasurable with you could also be horrible, more degrading than all the beatings we've ever taken in a case. The single only thing that I thought I was in absolute control of in the world, my body, belonged to someone else. Ouch-"

I immediately let go of her hands, which I must have been squeezing proportionately with my emotions. My senses of rage, impotence, and protectiveness threatened to overpower me, and I forced each of them down. This was her story, not mine, and I would listen.

"And I was so thankful that I wasn't fully conscious, and gave myself over to the blackness. And it took weeks, but I woke up and started to feel better. I loathed my body, I remember scratching it, rubbing it, not wanting to be dead but wishing I could get out of my body. And then to find out I was pregnant with Reid, and I couldn't hate my body any more. Not when it was growing someone so precious. And Reid was my connection to you. I was all set to go into the Witness Protection Program with you, Frank. But right after I found out I was pregnant, I started getting these unbelievable blackmail letters."

I was sitting so far on the edge of my seat that I fell off at this point, and quickly pulled it back beneath me. " _What?_ Joe never told me about this."

"I begged him not to. The letters said that since you were preventing justice when a family was ripped apart, then your family would be ripped apart. They said that if we ever saw each other again, they'd find out…The entire mob was after you, hell, law enforcement was annoyed with you, the last thing I needed was for you and Joe to reunite and go on a Hardy Boys vigilante mission to take this blackmailer down and lose both of you at the same time." Nancy scanned our surroundings, as did I. There was no one else here.

"How often did you get these letters?" I hated moving into detective mode, but I needed to know if my family was in danger.

"Once a year, on Aaron's birthday. The letters followed me from the hospital to Atlantic City."

"Aaron's birth—wait, did you get a letter this year? After the mob contract on me expired?"

Nancy pursed her lips together and nodded miserably.

Dear God. But this might be manageable. If it wasn't the entire mob that was still after me, then Joe and I might be able to take them down. If that were the main reason why Nancy wanted to divorce me…and she was trusting me with this information now, when she never had before…

Nancy crossed her legs. "And now you know everything. Every last damn thing. And so, in return…please tell me _everything_ you know, Frank. Our time is limited."

I deserved her lack of trust. I'd kept far too many secrets from her. And so I did tell her everything: coming home early from my case, purchasing the fucking marzipan that destroyed our lives, witnessing the murder at exactly the time I emerged from the store, swallowing the tracking device, the van heading to our house, the gag and ropes and restraining men that never lightened up for one moment the entire time that Nancy was in the van.

At some point I noticed that she'd ended up on my lap, her arms around my neck. I censored nothing, speaking and crying and shaking through the entire story. I stopped at the point when Joe arrived and rescued us.

There were tears in Nancy's eyes. She pressed her forehead against mine.

I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them. I gently pushed Nancy's hips away from me. She followed my cue and sat in her own chair, her eyes following me. It was time for me to do something that I should be doing every day for the rest of my life.

I got on my knees on the left side of my wife.

She let out a small gasp. "What are you—"

I laid my head in her lap, wrapping my arms around her waist. "I'm so sorry, Nancy," I whispered. "If only it had happened to me, a thousand times over."

"Frank," Nancy breathed. I felt her fingers gently raking through my hair.

"I never, never, never should have let them approach our condo," I said fiercely. "I kept thinking that Joe was about to arrive. Just one more minute. Just one more minute. And I was restrained and gagged the entire time that you were in the van…I was unable to help you and had no opportunity to give the name…believe me, I would have screamed the name on the evening news if that gag hadn't been in my mouth."

"I know that," Nancy said gently. "I think I know you by now, Frank Hardy."

I rose and pulled her to her feet with me, wrapping my arms around her tightly, protectively. "I'm so grateful for the five years of marriage that we had, the happiest time of my life. I'm grateful that you're the mother of my children. Thank you for doing such a great job raising our kids."

" _Frank_ ," she said passionately, her hands balling into fists. "Frank, don't speak like that. Like it's a permanent goodbye. Let's not…we don't have to sign any papers tonight."

Then her eyes widened in horror, and I realized just a second too late that her gaze had been focusing on something over my shoulder.

I felt a dart pierce my flesh on the back of my right shoulder. I ripped it out but stumbled, immediately feelings its severe effects. I used my final act of consciousness to put my body between Nancy and our attackers. Then the room faded to black, and I was once more utterly helpless to protect my wife. I had one final delirious hope, the only hope left to me since our officers were obviously no help.

Maybe Joe would return soon and save Nancy. In just another minute or two.


	18. Chapter 18

Frank

December 10, 2016 (Cont'd)

Consciousness assaulted me, and I winced with pain as the blood rushed to my head. I waited for the fog to lift and my vision to return and, when it didn't, I realized that I was in complete darkness. I was on the rough wooden floor of our cabin, hands and ankles bound so tightly with wires that it was cutting off my circulation. "Nancy!" I whispered in despair, delusionally praying that maybe, with however microscopic a chance, we had merely been robbed.

"I'm here. They didn't hurt me at all," she answered thickly from the other side of the room. Cotton mouth was a side effect of whatever drug had been in those darts.

"But you're not alone," a deep, bemused voice with a southern drawl said from the blackness, and the hairs on the back of my neck stiffened immediately. The owner of that voice had plans for us, and he did not sound like he was in a hurry. "Now. Let's get over the introductions, shall we? We've covered our faces with masks. Which is excellent news for the two of you, because it means we'll let you live if you make the correct decision. Does this sound familiar?"

I was beginning to dissociate, and dug my fingers into my palms in an effort to stay grounded. April 2011 repeating itself had played out so many times in my mind that it was almost expected that we were right back where we started. Our closest neighbors probably wouldn't be able to hear us shout for help, and even if they could, we would be leading them right into a trap. Had these men taken out Joe before they'd come here? What about the kids? A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I couldn't ask any questions or it would give them information.

"First, there's me." The same man turned on an electric lantern and put it on the floor. He was wearing an identical ski mask to the kind our attackers had worn years ago. Big and brawny with a deep voice. "Then we have bad guys two through eight. Come into the light briefly, gentlemen, so these people can do their math and confirm for themselves that there are two of them and eight of us."

They moved in rotations so that there were always three of them guarding each of us at once. They weren't the same men as 2011, I knew; I regularly confirmed that those men were still in jail. I tested my range of motion, assessing my options, and confirmed that these men had carefully and thoroughly left us with none. Rage and despair mingled to cement the paralyzing numbness seeping throughout my body. There was no knowing if they would keep their promise and leave us unharmed if we gave them information. "I love you, Nancy," I said.

"I love you, too, Frank, and we don't have to give them anything," she said with a strong edge of determination. We couldn't see each other through the darkness, the men, and the small radius of light afforded by the electric lantern.

"And we all love you as well," their spokesman said, nodding to his men to return to their original formation. He sat down in the radius of light. The halo of light extended several feet in front of me. I felt four strong pairs of hands physically restraining me. "Which is why we want to take care of our business quickly and let you enjoy the rest of your evening. Your officers are tied up quite security in the abandoned stables, by the way, unharmed but also unable to help you. Thanks for that extra shift exchange, it gave us the break we were looking for. And now you may give me the name of the man who killed Barzini."

I heard Nancy adjusting her position, gasping in pain with a sharp intake of breath.

"Let her go," I snapped savagely, struggling futilely in my restraints. A man behind me leaned over and punched me hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

"Frank!" I heard Nancy cry. "They didn't hurt me, I'm fine! These wires are just so tight. Don't…don't give them what they want."

It took several moments before my breath came back to me. The impact of her repeated statement also hit me like a blow. How could she think we could get out of this? Did she really hold out hope that we would be rescued? Was she in a better position to escape than I was? Or did she really think that Barzini's killer was worth our lives, and possibly our family's, for a second time?

"All we're waiting for is a name," their speaker said calmly. "We haven't hurt your wife yet, sir. Perhaps she will do her part in encouraging you to give us the correct name before this night is over." He gave a curt nod to the same associate, who walked toward me once more.

"Stop!" Nancy cried sharply.

The man punched me squarely in the jaw, making my neck crack back and my head swim with disorientation and pain. And he obviously had not used all his strength.

"It's all right, Nancy," I said, breathing hard. A thin line of blood trickled down the left corner of my mouth, and I impatiently wiped it on my sleeve. That punch had knocked away the last trace of any wishful thinking. There was no one to save us. When Joe returned, he would have the boys with him, and that we couldn't allow. All I could give Nancy was a couple more minutes in case she had a plan I didn't know about.

But as if on horrifying cue, I heard the scuffle of footsteps climbing up the porch steps.

"Bitch," Aaron muttered, and turned the latch.

Oh, God. Aaron had returned alone.

Nancy screamed warnings at the top of her lungs, and I joined with her. "Run!" I yelled. "Turn around! Call the cops!"

Contrary to our intentions, the door opened quickly and Aaron's silhouette stood in the doorway, outlined by moonlight. "What's going on?" he said, sounding confused and panicked. "Is somebody hurt? Why aren't the lights—"

Two men easily subdued him. One slammed him into the wall, causing him to crumple to the floor, and the other kicked him hard in the stomach to make sure he stayed down. Nancy gave a loud, maternal sob as our son curled into the fetal position, clutching his injured body, disoriented and frightened. Someone shot him with the tranquilizer, and his body relaxed as the drug began to take effect.

But at this point I felt strangely calm. My decision was clear. I was once again impotent to save my family, but this time I would make the necessary choice to put my family at the least possible risk.

"I will give you the name of the man you want," I said. "It was—"

"No," Nancy interrupted. "I will give you the name. Ned Nickerson killed Barzini."

The group collectively paused as this information sank in.

My shoulders slumped. My brave, strong wife. She should have let me be the one to pronounced Ned's death sentence.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" the ringleader said. "No more yearly letters, ma'am. Thank you for your cooperation. You'll never hear from us again unless you involve the police." He gave a signal to his men. They gathered their supplies and one of the men threw a pair of wire cutters on the ground. They left out the back door and into the woods, shutting the door quietly on the way out.

Nancy lay on the ground, crying softly. I knew my wife. They were tears of grief, not trauma.

"I'm coming, love," I said gently, inching toward the wire cutters. It took several moments to get the leverage I needed to cut through my restraints, and then I walked to Nancy and cut hers as well. We approached Aaron and assessed him, Nancy rubbing his back in small circles.

"I only saw one tranquilizer gun," she said, her voice shaking. "So he should be waking up in a few minutes, just like we did."

Instead of answering, I sat behind her. I wrapped my arms around her, rubbing her wrists. With the lantern light gone, my eyes had adjusted as best they could with only the moonlight coming through the windows. "Talk to me, Nancy."

"Oh, Ned," she said, sucking her breath in short, small gasps. "I would have given anything to save your life. Anything except my family."

I rubbed my cheek against hers. "I'm sorry, sweetie. We did everything we could for him."

Nancy leaned into me. "For a long time, I thought the killer was my father. Or your father. Even Joe. But then I realized…any one of those people would have come forward by now. They would never have sat back while our family was ripped apart. I'd forgotten about Ned years ago, and only remembered him after Joe gave me that clue this morning."

I felt the wetness on her cheeks.

"And I realized that you kept silence to spare the man that you thought I loved," she whispered.

"I'm so sorry, Nancy," I said, kissing her cheek. "I'm sorry for everything. Sorry that I ripped you away from him, sorry that you were forced to grow up quickly, becoming a young mom. A few minutes of pleasure forced you to be with me. I couldn't have the man you love killed or sent to a lifetime in prison. I didn't want you to think that you had anything at all to do with it. I wanted your memories of him be untarnished."

"You had quite a hard choice, love," Nancy said. "Even after all that's happened, I was still hoping we could have protected him tonight, but we couldn't. Thank you for giving him his freedom. But, Frank…Ned was a boy that I had a fling with a long time ago. You are the man that I grew to love. A mature, adult love that has long and deep roots. I love _you_ , Frank."

I kissed her mouth, long and fiercely. I held her even more tightly.

"I would never have protected him that night if I'd known the consequences," I continued. "I thought that Joe would show up, he didn't, and by the time you were in danger I couldn't help you. I assumed that you left me because of how stupid that decision was, and how I couldn't save you."

"I didn't join you because of your agent and the letters. God, what a relief when that man admitted that he sent those blackmail letters and that he wouldn't send any more. And…maybe a little because you didn't talk to me about all this." She kissed my nose.

Years of misunderstandings and self-flagellation melted into a relief that made me physically weak. "You made the right choice to protect the boys, Nance. You're much more generous to me than I deserve. I'm so sorry."

"I forgive you. And I thank you for Ned. And now, I think we should move past apologies and guilt. Especially if…if all of this might have led us to Reid."

I bristled.

That was the last time my wife and I ever mentioned our son's uncertain biological parentage.

"Of course you can't make any decisions right now," I said. "But I am going to give you quite a little victory dance if you ever tell me that we can burn those em-effing divorce papers."

Nancy sighed. "Oh, Ned. What an idiot you are. All we could buy him was five and a half years. I can't believe I'm hearing myself say this, Frank, but I think this is the first mystery I truly have no desire to solve. What Ned did, who those men were, whatever Barzini did. We'll ask Joe to track down Ned and give him a warning. And then we'll be done with all of it."

I knew that the best thing I could say was nothing. I comforted her the best that I could. Celebrating the freedom of our family, but at the ultimate price of the man Nancy might have married.

Then there was another sound of footsteps coming up the path.

I glanced at the clock on the microwave. 7:09. How could so much have happened in such a short amount of time?

"Uncle Joe, why aren't the lights on?" we heard Reid ask from outside.

"Come in, Joe, it's all right," I called. My thoughts turned to Reid. How would we explain our current position to him?

Joe came in and turned on the light, his wary expression turning to horror when he saw Aaron's unconscious form and the cut wires. Professional instincts taking over, he searched all the bedrooms and locked both doors before joining us at Aaron's side. "What happened?"

"Why is Aaron sleeping on the floor?" Reid asked.

"I was really tired," Aaron said thickly, his voice edged with pain. He rolled over and slowly sat up, wincing and holding his side.

I completed a more thorough assessment of his injuries while Nancy asked him the corresponding questions. His side appeared to be his only injury.

"Probably some cracked ribs," I said to Nancy. "There's nothing they can do for them. They won't even wrap his chest because shallow breathing risks pneumonia."

"I'm dying over here," Joe said testily. "The kid will be fine for the next five minutes."

"We're getting him checked out," Nancy said decisively. "As for what happened…uh…" she glanced at Reid.

"Tell it to us in four-year-old terms, Mom," Aaron said. "Reid shouldn't grow up with secrets like I did."

Nancy looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. I put a hand around her shoulder. "Reid, you know that Mommy and I have dangerous jobs. I used to, at least."

"And that some bad people wanted some information from Daddy, which is why it was too dangerous for us to live with him." Nancy knelt in front of Reid and put her hands on his shoulders. "Some bad men came into this cabin and wanted information. We gave them the information they wanted so they left. But we're still together as a family, sweetheart, and we're all okay." She looked pointedly at me. "And your father will never again keep secrets from me and Uncle Joe."

"Where's our officers?" Joe's hands were trembling.

"They told us where they tied up our officers," I told him.

"Did they get an opportunity because I changed the guards? So I caused all this? And _again_ I didn't show up in time to help you?" Joe thrust a hand through his unruly hair, obviously agitated.

"Hey, I'm the older brother, how about you take some of this burden that's been on your shoulders all these years and put it back on mine where it belongs," I said, nudging him. "You had Reid with you, we couldn't let you get here in time. It should have worked out like this a long time ago."

"I don't like it," Joe said softly. "I mean…wow…I'm thrilled that you can come home now, Frank—I mean, that is—" He glanced at Nancy and dropped his sentence. "I'm just saying that the mob is huge. Let's still keep an eye out."

Nancy stood up. "We've been keeping an eye out since we got into detective work in our teens, Joe. Life is dangerous and we know it. But we can't let that hold us back from living." She turned toward me. "Together."

I took her in my arms. God, I loved her. "So you're saying that my promise to Aaron is complete?"

"What?" Nancy asked. "What promise did you make to Aaron?"

Instead of answering, I leaned in and kissed her long and thoroughly.

Aaron groaned and hobbled toward the door, but I could hear the amusement in his voice. "I'm thinking maybe I need to spend tonight in the hospital after all."

A/N: Many thanks to xcherryxlipsx for proofreading and giving me the confidence to post this chapter! Also to my most fabulous reviewers—I am so spoiled with the volume of readers that review for every chapter right away. Two more chapters, guys, please stick around!


	19. Chapter 19

Joe

August 31, 2022

Six years later

"So what's the plan?" I asked as soon as the whistle blew. Frank laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. We were usually so meticulously prepared for these night games, complete with code gestures and contingency plans, but dinner had been chaos due to the rambunctious presence of Frank and Nancy's five-year-old daughter, Grace. She'd barely passed the age restriction, but Aaron had immediately said yes when she'd asked to come along on this quarterly family outing.

"We're not wasting our time on defense. We're capturing that flag, and we're going to take a route they'll never suspect. Most people automatically go to the right, even when they walk into grocery stores and stuff. It's a statestical fact," ten-year-old Reid said matter-of-factly, and I had to turn away and take several steps to keep from laughing right in his face. Stepping to the left, in defiance of statestical analysis.

"Therefore we'll go against the flow and head to the left," Nancy said loudly in my general direction, and took Grace's hand. Reid was always the leader during these night games, and we followed him into the darkness. Grace hurried as fast as her short legs were capable of. The adults planned on taking turns carrying her when she got tired, but for now Frank slid into stride beside his twenty-four-year-old.

Aaron had been a camp counselor at this camp every summer during his four years of local college, plus this last year working as many hours as he could to save for tuition. Frank and Nancy were losing him next week to medical school. In West Virginia, of all places. Last week I'd set his ringtone to "Wide Open Spaces" by the Dixie Chicks, earning myself yet another punch in the shoulder. "Following in Dad's footprints, sojourning into the wilderness," I'd teased. Frank had given up his position at Houghton and moved in with his family here at the Jersey Shore, taking a position at Stockton State College. He was now working on his Ph.D. It looked like Paul, our mentor, would be moving in with one of us soon. He hadn't been doing well since his wife Marie died six months ago.

I'd put in for reassignment for a new detective partner once Frank had moved back in with Nancy. It didn't feel right to stay partnered with her once my brother was back. He was now completely out of WITSEC. He'd left no forwarding address for Wakefield, but none of us doubted that Wakefield knew where we all were, or that he would easily blackmail us if we ever chose to report his unethical practices. Frank and Nancy had kept their new identities but had decided to take the risk of reinstating their marriage license, and were now Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. The mafia had not bothered them for six years.

Reid led us along the edge of the left boundary, past the boating cabin on the lake and the golf course and the first aide building. Tonight's game was plain old Capture the Flag. I heard Frank speak to Aaron in short, brief statements, making the most of these last few days with his son. I saw their heads together, both brown in the moonlight. Aaron had dyed his hair a few years ago, claiming that it made him look more scholarly, but I would bet my life that he'd just wanted to look more like his father. My nephew and I were both attracted to Frank like a moth is attracted toward light.

Grace tired quickly, although she'd never complain, and Nancy hoisted her on her hip and kept walking quickly. "We have to risk turning on flashlights," Nancy whispered to Reid. "We're never going to find—"

"Shh," Aaron said. He stopped walking.

Being in the rear, I quickly ducked behind a tree. I was surprised to see Frank do the same.

A flashlight turned on. "Busted," a kid on the other team said triumphantly, and their large group made quick work surrounding Frank's family and tagging each person. "I'm taking you guys to jail." Reid made a sound of frustration, and Frank and I watched as his family was marched ritualistically away to incarceration.

Frank moved toward me once the coast was clear. "I learned my lesson ten years ago with Aaron," he said in a low voice. "Let's find the jail. Our priority is a jailbreak."

I had no idea where the jail was, and I followed Frank, in no hurry. I was pleasantly surprised to notice that Frank appeared to be in no hurry, either.

"The Hardy Boys partnered again. You know, I've missed this too, Joe," Frank said suddenly. "In everything that's happened in our chaotic adulthood, you've been the silent casualty. I've had to focus on Aaron and Nancy since I was eighteen, coaxing her into marrying me, then disappearing into the wilderness while you held my family together. Now my priority is three kids and a wife. As an academic, instead of doing field work with you. I don't need field work the way you do, I'm happy if my brain gets challenged in any way. I like my life, but I don't miss the adrenaline rush. I miss being partnered with you."

My throat felt thick, and for a moment I couldn't respond. It surprised me to realize how much I'd wanted Frank to say that, even after all these years. "Thanks, bro. Believe me, I miss you, too."

Frank sighed. "And I love having you as a neighbor across the hallway from us. I love that you're over almost every night. But how long has it been since you started seeing Natalie?"

"She's been my work partner for over three years now, and we just celebrated our year and a half anniversary. And don't you dare give me advice about women, Mr. Campbell, when you never took any of my advice about Nancy."

"Busted again," Frank said, nodding toward our right. A group of teeny-bopper girls were charging toward us, kicking up dead sand. For all the energy and war-whoops involved, they might well have been carrying torches and pitchforks under different circumstances.

"All female," I noted in a detached voice. "So there's one obvious place we can hide."

Frank caught my drift and we ran back the way we'd come from, searching for cabin lights piercing the darkness. I gave a polite curtsey to the ladies before we ducked into the men's room.

I turned the lock just as our enemies arrived, banging on the door and squawking in indignation.

"Well, that's it with Natalie and Nancy," I said. "Once they find out that their men hang out in bathroom stalls with other men during Christian game night."

Frank laughed. The streaks of gray had expanded beyond his temples, and the beginnings of wrinkles on his face were from smiling, not frowning. Our pursuers quickly tired of the wait, their adrenaline prodding them elsewhere. He peeked out the window.

"One faithful agent remains," he reported. "We'll wait her out."

"Guess who I heard from this morning," I said.

Frank turned to me. "Ned?"

I nodded, then smiled.

"Nancy will be thrilled to hear it," he said. "That guy has nine lives. It's been over a year since he contacted you, and Nancy was starting to get worried. And he never tells you which country he moves to, right?"

"Nope. Only a cryptic, thirty-second update that he and his family are still alive and well. And continued thanks to us all, you two for saving his life and me for giving him that warning that the mob was out for him." These topics of conversation brought back a variety of emotions, and suddenly I had so many things that I wanted to say to Frank that I couldn't decide what the first item of business should be. He and I had so little time alone these days. I swallowed. As always, he seemed to read my mind.

"It's okay, you know, Joe," Frank said. "It's okay that you love Nancy in your own way. And that you loved her even more when I was gone."

We'd had similar conversations over the years, but I'd never quite believed him. "I'm just glad that you were able to come back in the end," I said. "You belong with your family. I was a substitute."

"No, Joe. You're not going to deflect, and we're going to keep having this conversation until you believe me." Frank gave me a pointed look. "My kids needed a father figure. Nancy needed a partner. You were there for them when I couldn't be. And I'll always be grateful."

My cheeks burned even more from shame than from embarrassment. "Frank…I don't think you fully realize exactly… _how_ I loved her."

"You think I can't understand how a man would love Nancy Drew?" Frank raised his eyebrows. "I think I'm the expert."

"You don't know it all, Frank. What I would have done, if I'd thought she were receptive to it. And damn the consequences, damn every person in every family that would be ripped apart." I couldn't believe I was saying such things to my brother about his wife. I couldn't look at him.

Silence. In my line of vision, staring down at the floor, I saw his feet slowly approach me. He tapped my shoulder once, then several more times until I looked up at him. Frank was gazing at me with infinite gentleness and not a hint of judgment, not at all surprised or uncomfortable.

"I think I can guess," Frank said. "And you didn't act on any of those desires. Love is a choice. Maybe the person you should be talking to about all this is Nancy."

" _Nancy?_ " I said incredulously.

Frank shrugged. "She didn't love me at first. But her love grew gradually, over the years. She made a choice to love me a long time ago, and we're happier now than we've ever been."

"Frank…" I cringed. "The secrets run pretty deep, bro. That weekend on the ranch—"

"Happened six years ago. I remember you tracking me down, setting up a beautiful weekend for me and my family, helping me reunite with Nancy and helping me move back in with her even though you still had feelings for her. That's what I remember." Frank crossed his arms, as if challenging me to deny the facts.

I said nothing.

"The major decisions in my life are over, Joe. But yours aren't. It's okay if you love Nancy and marry someone else that you also love. Love is a choice, and I know you pretty darn well. When you make a decision, you follow it through. There is no doubt in my mind that if you marry Natalie, you will make her a very happy wife, and the love you now feel for her will grow into something much bigger than you have ever felt for anyone else." Frank unlocked the door. "Now let's get out of this bathroom."

He looked both ways and bolted into the night. His words were still sinking in, and I waited just a fraction of a second too long before following him. I felt a tap on my back.

"Got you," the girl said smugly. She grabbed my hand much harder than necessary and pulled on it as she led me to jail. Frank sprinted boldly through the sandy path, dodging a boy that appeared from behind the dining hall.

I allowed myself to be manhandled, distracted in thought. I thought of my happy teenage years, when it had been me and Frank against the world. Then the many years of jealousy, when I was forced to share Frank with his wife and son. And then to experience such an abrupt transition, when my feelings of jealousy toward Nancy turned into a forbidden love and desire. The feelings were still there, every time Frank and Nancy kissed, every time I returned to my own residence alone while they waved to me together in their doorway. My desire toward Nancy was still there, not as strong as it had been, covered in scar tissue, hurt but only partially extinguished.

My nephews made rude noises of derision as I joined them in jail. Their father was now our only hope of salvation. "Cover every corner," I said to them and Nancy. "Keep one foot in jail, one foot out, and stretch your hand out in case someone on our team comes close enough to break us free."

Once our bases were covered, my thoughts turned to Natalie and the possibility of her becoming my partner in every possible way. Us coming home from work every night, making dinner together as Nancy and I had once done. I imagined her round with our children, how beautifully her hair would slowly turn from black to gray over the years, deep crow's feet embedded next to her eyes because she never cared about the frequency, volume, or duration of her deep belly laughs.

Yes. Love is a choice.

I saw a blur in the distance turn into a silhouette, then transform into a full outline of Frank sprinting toward us from out of the blackness. He appeared and disappeared like a strobe light according to the breaks in the tree branches, the moonlight illuminating him totally or not at all. Multitudes of smaller shadows screamed, trailing him, now sprinting toward him from the side.

I kept one foot inside jail and one foot out, arm stretched as far as possible, waiting and eager for my brother to set me free.

Frank ran in a straight line, focused on his goal, then ran side to side to dodge the final prison guards. My fellow prisoners gradually noticed their potential for freedom, and the dull roar quickly turned into shouts and screams.

I felt a gentle tug on my pants leg. "I want to help," Grace said.

"Jailbreak!" Frank shouted, slapping my hand hard as he ran past. The liberated masses whooped with joy, scattering to the winds. Most were running back toward our side of the field, choosing to play defense rather than risk another imprisonment.

But I scooped my niece into my arms, heading farther into the woods as she shrieked with excitement. "Let's capture that blankety-blank flag!" I screamed to my brother's family, running into unknown risky territory. With a little help from Grace.

Tomorrow I would buy Natalie a ring.

A/N: Such a fun chapter to write, I enjoyed giving every character a happy ending. Some of you may wish to end the story here. But for those who want a bucket of ice water dumped on their heads, meet me back here this weekend for the final chapter!


	20. Chapter 20

Epilogue

Aaron

December 9, 2016

Tracy was a nice girl with a southern drawl and cute pigtail braids to match. If she hadn't lived thousands of miles away from me, I'd be interested in getting to know her a little better. As it was, I'd chosen her as my temporary companion because she loved to talk and required no responses.

I knew my parents would end up in bed together tonight. I'd been conceived when they were eighteen and not even dating, so their attraction ran deep. Strangely, I must have been the only teenager ever to feel comfort from the thought of his parents having sex. _If_ it meant that they were officially reuniting. And if they were risking another conception just to satisfy their lusts and nostalgia, leading to all-around broken hearts yet again, I would be pissed. Especially with my dad's new holy rolling.

Uncle Joe's eyes were riveted on my parents. He'd picked a vantage point where my parents couldn't see him well, not that they were thinking of anyone besides each other. He stood stiffly, then uncomfortably ambled over to the band and spoke briefly to the lead singer. The next song that came on was "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts.

As the music slowed, my dad picked up Reid and danced with my mom. She gave him a tender look when he couldn't see her, and then forced her expression back into neutral when he once again turned to her.

I absentmindedly took a sip of the cup that Tracy handed to me, then almost spit it out. "Where did you get this?" I asked her in astonishment.

"The guy in the back put something special in it for me," she answered with a slight slur. Her eyes were unfocused.

A minute later I felt a hand on my elbow. "Reid fell asleep, so we're going back to the cabin," Mom said in my ear. "But you can stay at this dance until it's over. As long as you stay in the crowd here and Uncle Joe or the officer walks you back to the cabin." Fortunately Mom was obviously distracted and didn't get an assessment of Tracy's intoxicated state.

"Of course, Mom," I said, somehow making my answer sound sincere. Maybe I would follow her instructions and maybe I wouldn't. She headed back to my dad and put a hand on his shoulder.

My gaze drifted back to Uncle Joe. As soon as my parents and brother walked out the barn door, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.

Something wasn't right.

"Come on," I said suddenly to Tracy, putting the cup down. I pulled her close and began to dance, rotating somewhat quicker than the song called for. I had to be able to see the exits. I looked downward and held Tracy close, laughing at her drunken chatter, attempting to appear focused on everything but my uncle. It took four more songs, but I finally saw his feet slip out the left side door.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I whispered into Tracy's ear. Not waiting for a reaction, I crossed in front of the plainclothes officer, opened the bathroom door, closed it, locked it, and climbed out the window.

I limped away with quite a few cuts and scrapes, as the size of the window certainly wasn't made to accommodate my height, but soon I was moving quickly. I returned to the main road, forced to rely on the ranch lights to try to catch a glimpse of my uncle. A few seconds later he appeared briefly under a far light and climbed over the fence, leaving the FarmStay and passing through a thin layer of trees.

I stayed on the periphery of the lights. I had to break into a jog in order to prevent losing him. Once I walked between the two trees where I had last seen him, only a small sound of disturbed stones gave me a clue to turn left.

Uncle Joe walked briskly, purposefully down the Texan dirt road. My footfall sounded very loud to me, alone in the southern wilderness. The night was slightly cloudy but the moon was full, and I couldn't help but imagine encounters with various wild animals. The clicking of crickets and katydids turned into a dull road in my ears, increasing with my sense of apprehension. He turned right, then left, until finally he ducked into a shed on the left side of an intersecting road.

I crept across the dead grass, wincing at the slight crunch it made under my feet. There was a broken window in the shed, and I crouched underneath it.

"You sure do a rotten job of following somebody," I heard Uncle Joe say in disgust.

"Following?" a male voice responded sarcastically. "I've been sitting here waiting for you for twenty minutes."

There was no time to retreat. The door to the shed immediately opened, and my uncle roughly pulled me to my feet and dragged me by the shirt into the shed. He closed the door after him and slammed me into the wall.

"You everlasting punk," Uncle Joe seethed. "Why couldn't you try to get lucky with a drunken Texan like a normal kid would?"

"Whatever's going on, I have a right to know. He's your brother, but he's my _dad_ ," I responded hotly. "I'm not a kid anymore."

"I think I'll turn on my flashlight for just one second," the other man said in the darkness, and I squinted at the blinding light. He whistled and turned the light off, leaving me seeing stars. He hadn't moved from his position in the shadows.

"So you have a son, Joe," he said.

"No." Uncle Joe released me and stood back. He and I were next to the window and could see each other by the light of the moon. "This is my nephew, Aaron. Frank and Nancy's son."

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then a slow, deep laugh. "You sure changed the course of my life. Do you need to walk him home, Joe, or can we trust him to find his own his way back?"

"No," I said adamantly. "Please. Please, both of you. I can't take the secrets any more. I have a right to know what's going on with my own family."

"Not for you to know, kid," the stranger said firmly. "You've seen and heard too much already. You have to trust Joe."

I turned to my uncle. "Is that right, Uncle Joe? I'm a kid? How old were you when you became a detective? Would you ever have rested in finding out the truth if you were in my place?"

There was a moment of silence.

"You're considering it?" the man said incredulously. "Aren't his parents going to wonder where he is?"

Joe bristled. "I don't think so. They're probably hoping that he won't go back to the cabin for a long time."

"I recognize that pain," the other man said. "You're busting your ass trying to help Nancy, and she leaps into bed with Frank Hardy. I can't believe _you_ fell for Nancy too, Joe."

Uncle Joe took a step toward the man, anger flashing in his eyes, then stopped. "Aaron is staying," he decided. "Let me inform that idiot who was supposed to be watching you at the dance." He pulled out his cell phone and sent a text.

The stranger made a derisive noise and crossed his arms.

"But you are not going to hear things that you want to hear," Uncle Joe warned me, tucking his phone back in his pocket. "And if you stay, you will have to keep very big secrets from the people you love _for the rest of your life._ Take a second to think about what a burden that will become. Right now, in ten years, in thirty years. You will probably have to keep these secrets from your future wife, definitely from your future children."

"Done," I said, but his words had succeeded in making me feel uneasy.

Joe gave me a last, hard look. "Then allow me to introduce Mr. Ned Nickerson. Your mother's boyfriend, at the time you were conceived."

"Nice to meet you," Ned said drily. "You said that you would be short, Joe, and that there is something I can do to help Nancy with a big problem. And you also swore on your family's lives that you would not bring recording devices or law enforcement into this conversation."

"Yes, I did, and Aaron is now bound by the same promises," Uncle Joe said, briefly squeezing my arm so hard it hurt. "I would like to ask you where you were on the night of April 10, 2011."

"I suspect you already know," Ned said. He'd obviously been expecting that question.

"Why did you kill Barzini, Ned?"

"Because that scum had been threatening my wife for years," Ned replied. "After Callie and I broke up, I moved back to River Heights and met a local girl. You don't know her and I'm not giving you one more detail about my life than is essential to what you need. Barzini had evidence that she had been involved in the drug trade fifteen years ago, and he was blackmailing her. We married and moved to Texas to completely start over, stopped talking to almost everybody. But Douche just found us and kept leeching us, wanting more and more money. When I tried to put limits on him to prevent going bankrupt, he went to my mother's house and scared her so badly I had to bring her here to live with us. Believe me, I wasn't the only one who wanted him dead. I was just the only one with enough balls to see it through."

"So this is the incident that put my father in the Witness Protection Program," I said. I wasn't angry. It was a relief to finally begin to put the pieces together.

"What?" Ned said sharply.

"Frank saw you that night," Joe told him. "Barzini's associates saw him on camera, saw that he recognized you. They tied him up and put him in a van, and Frank refused to give them your name."

Ned swore softly.

"They gagged him, went to the residence and picked up Nancy, and made Frank watch as they hurt her. Badly."

" _What_?" Ned repeated, this time his voice tinged with alarm and horror. I remembered those weeks visiting my mom in the hospital when she was covered in bandages and wires, the guilt I felt at not wanting to visit her, not wanting to see her like that. Hearing the story behind it was bringing all those emotions back.

Joe pressed on. "And Frank continued to tell the police that he hadn't seen who the killer was. They put him in the Witness Protection Program, hoping he'd tell, and he never did."

"Dear God," Ned said softly, shakily. He finally walked toward us, coming into the moonlight, and sat down hard on a work table next to the door. He was a couple of inches shorter than us but quite built, his skin weathered prematurely from the sun. "Frank Hardy and Nancy Drew are not my favorite people in the world, but I would never wish this on them. Why? Why wouldn't he give them my name?"

I was interested in this answer as well.

"Because my idiot brother has always had an inferiority complex when it comes to Nancy," Uncle Joe explained wearily. "He still believes that you are the only man she's ever loved, and that she only married him because of Aaron. That Nancy would be shattered if she knew that Frank or she had anything to do with your death. Or even imprisonment."

"Wow," Ned said. He shook his head. "What a stunad. Nancy's always had it hard for Frank. Frank didn't even tell you? Or Nancy?"

"No," Uncle Joe said. "This is the first weekend Frank and Nancy have seen each other since it happened. I chose this FarmStay because I saw that it was thirty-five minutes from your ranch. I looked you up because I had a hunch you were the killer."

"You're contacting me now? After all these years?" Ned said suspiciously.

"You put it off because you fell in love with my mother," I said to Uncle Joe.

He turned toward me. "I never acted on it, Aaron."

"I believe you," I said. I did.

Ned addressed me. "You said your father went into Witness Protection. Your mom didn't go with him?"

"She said it was too dangerous," I said.

Uncle Joe spoke. "And she said that because when I found out that your father was already in hiding and assigned to one of the most corrupt agents of all time, I decided that I could still save you and your mom. I sent her anonymous blackmail letters every year on your birthday. Filled with photos of you, close-ups of you at school, with friends, walking into your apartment. Saying that you would be harmed if she ever contacted your father again, or if Frank did not give the name of the killer. Because if Frank was okay with a family being ripped apart with no justice given, then Frank's family would also be separated."

He said it in such a matter of fact manner that it took me several moments to comprehend. I sank onto the work table next to Ned. My knees could no longer support my weight. "You broke up my family."

"I had a hard choice to make," Joe said severely. He broke eye contact, though, and I could tell that he still struggled with that decision. "Whether to split you up or possibly watch as you all were sent to your deaths so Wakefield could make a little profit."

"And you fooled a detective of twenty years with these fake blackmail letters? Well, Joe," Ned said, shaking his head, "Nancy does love you in her own way. What a blind spot."

"She must have thought that I wasn't capable of such a thing. I didn't know I was, either, until the situation slapped me in the face. And then, this year…I sent the blackmail letter on your last birthday, Aaron, before I knew that the last man who had a contract out for your father had died. Your birthday is November 2, he died on October 17. He had so few visitors that they didn't find him for a long time. When your mom saw the date of the obituary, she naturally concluded that another very capable person must still have it out for your dad. So she thinks that it's still not safe for your family to get back together."

"I see," I said hotly. "So the purpose of this secret meeting is to avoid telling my mom that you sent all those blackmail letters."

"One more stupid comment and I'm throwing you out of here, kid," Ned said crisply to me. "Seems to me like your uncle has gone quite far out of his way to try to keep your family alive and reunite them now that it might be safe, breaking his own heart by doing so. And he never touched your mom or got into a relationship with her. I'm not seeing anything dishonorable about anything he did. So you're going to shut up and let him speak."

My ego was bruised, but I recognized the truth in his words. I shut up.

Ned sighed. "And so. I want to help out if I can. What's your plan, Joe?"

Joe ran a hand through his hair. "It's not _my_ plan. Frank has been living as a college professor out in the middle of nowhere, and his landlord, Paul, eventually became like a spiritual confessor to him. Earlier this fall, I also had a very…unorthodox…confession with Paul. He said that as long as Frank doesn't give the name of Barzini's killer—your name, Ned—there will always be a rift between Nancy and Frank. Even though Nancy still might reconcile with Frank, his status will be lowered in her eyes. She intellectualizes what happens to her, rationalizes it, but she is still a _woman_ , and women want to know that their man will defend them under extreme circumstances. And Frank would be a broken man, a fraction of the man she married, since his guilt and sense of emasculation will haunt him."

"I'm wondering where you're going with this," Ned said warily.

"Paul believes that we should bring them back to that point," Joe said passionately, standing very close to us now. He looked down from Ned to me, still sitting on the work table like submissive pupils. "The lowest point in their lives. And this time, Frank will make the correct decision. I have eight hired guys lodged a mile away from here as we speak, who know nothing about any of this except for the role they're hired to play. Even the local sheriff won't know about this. I'll ask for an extra shift change, pass on all the details so my guys will tie the rookie officers up. There's no doubt in my mind that Frank and Nancy will want some time alone tomorrow night, and we'll strike then."

"And while they're in their cabin, we break in wearing disguises, take them hostage, and demand again to know who the killer is," Ned said, admiration in his voice. "We'll re-enact the scene. Wow, Joe. You sure have grown since I saw you last."

"Re-traumatize them?" I said in disbelief.

"Re-open the wound. So that this time, it can heal correctly." Joe turned toward Ned. "I'd like to invite you to be on that team of men who break in, Ned. We'll rough up Frank, threaten to hurt Nancy if it comes to that. If we can just get Frank to say your name, than Frank and Nancy will think that the mob is no longer looking for them. I'll make sure they continue to take safety precautions. Only one of my hired guys is authorized to speak, and he'll make a comment to Nancy that she'll get no more blackmailing letters since Frank gave up the name. I'll give Frank and Nancy bogus updates on you every year, telling them that you're continually on the move and successfully evading the mob. And, most importantly, Nancy will know that Frank cared enough about her not to let history repeat itself, and Frank will regain his sense of manhood when he successfully protects his wife. It will be a redemption scene from five years ago, only this time ending in the correct way."

"Mmm," Ned said thoughtfully. I was still reeling, but he'd accepted the idea immediately. "But you don't need me to carry out this plan. Why do you want me on the team?"

Joe shifted his weight. "There is a very small chance that…I truly can't imagine that Frank wouldn't give up your name this time, Ned. But if anything at all goes wrong, if the scene obviously isn't doing what it's intended to do, if Frank doesn't give up the name, if Frank and Nancy manage to overpower nine men, or escape, or call law enforcement, or neighbors overhear, then we need to switch to Plan B. You need to reveal yourself. Take off your mask, tell them what happened and that you're the killer and we were trying to help. Which means I would also have to reveal my part in the plan later, since of course I won't be the room with all of you. But that would be a last-case scenario."

At the mention of Plan B, my thinking began to clear and my adrenaline began to rise. I didn't like the ramifications that would come along with Plan B.

"The idea has merit," Ned said slowly. "It's completely insane, but it's worth a shot. I promised Frank when he impregnated my girlfriend that if I ever saw him again, I would cause him significant bodily pain, and I intend to keep that promise. I'll stay quiet, stay in the shadows, my body looks a lot different than it did twenty years ago, so I'd be shocked if they recognized me. And after what, ten minutes max, if we don't get a name out of Frank then we go to Plan B? You know plan B involves you confessing to the blackmail letters, Joe. And I'm taking quite a legal risk here, too. All of our credibility will be shot and Nancy might not even believe us. And your relationship with them will suffer permanent damage."

"Plan B is not acceptable to me, gentlemen," I interjected. "My parents will get back together, and there are going to be no further issues between them. You have eight minutes to get Ned's name out of my dad. Even if my parents are willing to sacrifice themselves or each other, neither of them will allow anything to happen to me. After eight minutes, I will walk into the cabin. Then you will use me as leverage and do whatever you need to do to my body in order to get the name out of my dad."

~Finis~

A/N: A big thank you to Cherylann Rivers (your reviews modified the next chapter more than once), xcherryxlipsx (so glad you PMed me during nanowrimo), max2013 (singlehandedly keeps this fandom going with consistent reviews), Caranath (hope you feel better, love your spicy comments!), katnissta (I refused to post the next chapter until I heard from you), sm2003495 (so glad you started posting—loved your likes, predictions and requests), BellaBeau91 (so encouraging!) and numerous Guests (Nancy remained a blonde!) for faithful, detailed, and supremely encouraging reviews! This story was terrific fun to write last year, but painful agony making it consistent in revisions the past two months, and your support kept me glued to the screen when I wanted to throw the whole thing in the trash. I loved the ethical dilemmas, good people making tough choices, but my next project might be a lot more lighthearted. A big thanks to you guys for making this possible, have a terrific end of summer and God Bless!


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